


The Trio

by amazing_Hedgehog_girl



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Gen, M/M, Multi, Parentlock, Post-Reichenbach, SO SORRY
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-18
Updated: 2014-07-21
Packaged: 2017-12-15 09:42:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 25,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/848065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amazing_Hedgehog_girl/pseuds/amazing_Hedgehog_girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Okay so this is a fanfiction for all the people who keep telling me that I am the bastard child of Sherlock Holmes and Irene Adler who was raised by Sherlock and John.</p>
<p>This is horribly written and I'm sorry</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It's too early for this.

It was early in the morning when the doorbell Rang at 221B. Too early.

  
“Shut up!”

  
“I’ve got it Sherlock, Jesus”

  
John fumbled down the hall and down the stairs to the door and opened the door rubbing his eyes. It took him a moment to register a child standing on the doorstep clutching a stuffed rabbit and what looked like a letter, “My mummy said to give this to you.” She held out the letter and blinked slowly, waiting, patiently for John to take the letter. He nodded slowly and took the letter, “Where is your mum?” The child shrugged and buried her face in the stuffed rabbit, “She went away. The car brought me here.” Car? John looked around and shook his head, it was too early for this.  
The girl let herself be ushered inside and John lead her into the sitting room, her footsteps punctuated by a faint clicking noise, John shrugged mentally and assumed it was a toy or something. “Here, just, sit down, and I’ll be right back.” The doctor ambled down To Mrs Hudson’s and knocked on the door, “Mrs. Hudson!”

  
Their landlady answered the door and smiled, “Hello dear, Sherlock in a sulk?” John smiled and shook his head, “No, we uh, we have a bit of a situation. There was a random kid at the door and, I’m not quite sure if there’s a protocol, but…” Mrs. Hudson smiled and reached up to brush a bit of lint off John’s shirt, “I’ll be right up, and I’ll even bring breakfast.”  
The doctor kissed her cheek and headed back to the flat to check on their mysterious guest, “I suppose I’ll wake the genius then.” He had about a thousand questions he wanted to ask the girl, but he couldn’t make his brain organize any of them. Coffee, Coffee then questions he thought as he opened the door to the flat.

  
The girl was sitting on the couch still clutching her stuffed companion tightly to her chest and her feet were danging off the floor. She was so tiny and frail looking that John could almost mistake her for a doll if it weren’t for the alert curiosity in her eyes. John crouched down in front of her and smiled feeling a little less groggy, “What’s your name?”  
She looked at him, her eyes were startlingly familiar. He’d seen them, or some like them some place, “Shelby.” John nodded,”That’s a very pretty name, I’m John. Are you hungry?”

  
The girl shook her head and buried her face in the rabbit’s fur again, “What’s his name?” She looked up and shook her head, “Her. Her name is Dinah.” John smiled and started to stand up, “You and Dinah wait here, I’ll be right back. Then we’ll all eat some breakfast and talk, okay?”  
She nodded and buried her face again squeezing the rabbit tighter. John, satisfied that she could sit there a moment longer turned and walked towards Sherlock’s room and knocked on his door, “Sherlock, get up.” He listened for a moment for the sound of covers rustling or sheet’s hitting the floor before he opened the door and crossed the room to stand at the end of the bed, “Sherlock, get up. There’s a case.”  
Sherlock rubbed his face and grumbled, “This better be a 10 and a half.” John just shrugged and held out the letter the girl gave him from her “Mummy” and said, “I don’t know, you tell me.”

  
_________________

  
Sherlock snatched the letter out of John’s hand and scrubbed his hands through his hair trying to get his bearings. “It’s too early for this, John.” John just shook his head, “It’s important Sherlock.” Sherlock looked at John, squinting a little before he looked down at the letter. John couldn’t see his face and for that, Sherlock was momentarily grateful. He recognized that handwriting.

  
Time seemed to stop for a second as he tore open the envelope with trembling hands and scanned the letter. Once. Twice. Three times and he still wasn’t completely sure he understood. There was a 5 year old child in his living room. His child. And her mother wasn’t coming back. He laid the letter down and rubbed his face before handing the letter to John, “She’s got no where else to go, John.” He sighed, “I suppose Mycroft might be able to do something, but…” He stood up and watched John read the letter, fold it, and place it in his pocket, “We’ll find a place for her.”

  
Sherlock nodded and wrapped himself in his best dressing gown. Mrs. Hudson could be heard chattering away as she laid out breakfast things. Her cheerful voice mixing oddly with the brief mumbled replies from their guest. John turned towards the door, “You just take a moment. I’ll go back out there.” Sherlock huffed, “I’m perfectly fine, John.” John just nodded slightly and went back to the living room, the letter weighing him down like a stone. Sherlock took a deep breath and followed after.

  
John crossed the room and patted Mrs. Hudson’s shoulder before taking a seat on his favorite chair. Sherlock stopped in the door way and watched the girl for a moment. She didn’t look too much like him, but there was a certain passing resemblance. He couldn’t deny she was his child, it was obvious without a DNA test, at least to him. She had brown hair, blue eyes, and when John made her smile she looked like a Cheshire cat. He took a seat on the girl’s other side and she turned to look at him, “Hello, are you Sherlock?” The detective smiled a little and resisted the impulse to brush hair out of her face, “Yes.” She nodded and studied him carefully. What for, Sherlock didn’t know, but when she nodded and returned his smile he felt absurdly pleased. “My mummy told me about you, she said you were clever.” Sherlock nodded, “I am.” Shelby buried her face in Dinah’s soft fur again and Sherlock glanced at John, “Did she tell you about your father?” She shook her head, “I heard her say once that he died.” and Sherlock fought the urge to make her look at him. She buried her face in the stuffed animal again and murmured against it, “Where’d my mummy go? When is she coming back?”

  
Sherlock opened his mouth and closed it again scrambling to find an explanation before he blurted, “She’s not coming back. I am your father so she left you with me, because she didn’t think she could take care of you.” Shelby looked up and looked from John to Mrs. Hudson, to Sherlock as if waiting for someone to shout, “April Fool’s”. It was so quiet in the flat that Sherlock could hear the gears in her little mind grinding as she grasped for an understanding. She tried, and failed.

  
It started as a sniffle and turned into sobs before Sherlock even had time to process what was happening. She sobbed into the stuffed bunny and Mrs. Hudson scooped her up into her lap tutting softly as she smoothed soft curls, “There now, it’ll be alright. They’re good boys and they’ll spoil you rotten. You just have your cry out and we’ll go from there.” Sherlock and John watched helpless as Mrs. Hudson rocked and soothed without telling her to calm down or stop. John caught Mrs. Hudson’s eye and nodded his thanks, “Come on Sherlock. Let’s go find your brother.”  
John stood up and left the room to go and get dressed and he heard Sherlock get up and shuffle to his room a few moments later. John sighed and shook his head. What they were going to do with the girl, he had no idea, but he did like her. Her eyes were bright and when you could coax her into smiling it was infectious. He shrugged mentally and turned to go back down stairs, he could still here her sobbing against Mrs. Hudson’s shoulder. She’d be fine… hopefully.  
Sherlock finished buttoning his shirt and shrugged into his jacket. According to the letter, her cerebral palsy was just too much for Irene to handle. Sherlock huffed softly and closed his eyes for a second trying to block out the quiet confused sobs and Mrs. Hudson’s murmuring. When he opened them again he took out his phone and sent a text to Mycroft.

  
_We need to talk._ -SH

  
It took a moment, but his phone chimed softly with his reply.

  
_I’m sending a car now._ -MH

  
He nodded to himself and wondered briefly if he should take Shelby with him but decided against it. She was confused and an encounter with her uncle wouldn’t help that. Their upbringing didn’t equip them to deal with children who weren’t raised like soldiers. He heard the car pull up at the curb and turned towards the sitting room. He heard John saying a quiet good bye to Mrs. Hudson, asking her if she wanted anything, “A cool washcloth wouldn’t go amiss, dear.” He watched the scene and leaned against the doorframe, face impassive. He didn’t know what to do and it bothered him.  
John returned with the washcloth and reached down to brush the top of Shelby’s head with his fingertips before turning to follow Sherlock out the door to the car. They rode most of the way in silence absorbed in their own thoughts. “How are we feeling about this?” John’s voice was quiet but still startled Sherlock. He turned to look at his Army Doctor and smiled tightly, “I’m not really sure. I’d imagine I feel about like any man who’s had a 5 year old dropped on his door step.” John nodded and turned back towards the front, “We’ll make it work. We’ve been through worse.” Sherlock chuckled a little and John smiled, “Who knows, maybe she’ll be just the thing we need right now.” Sherlock nodded, “Thank you, John.”

  
The car pulled into the warehouse parking lot and the two men exited the vehicle and wound their way through to find Mycroft. He was waiting in a patch of Hazy sunlight leaning on an umbrella, “Good Afternoon, Gentlemen. I hear you have a guest.” Sherlock snorted, “My daughter was dropped on our doorstep today. I trust you’ve seen her?” Mycroft nodded, “She looks like you, if only in passing and I’m told she possesses your stubbornness.” John cleared his throat, “I’d like her medical records as soon as you can get them to me.” The elder Holmes turned to look at him and smiled slightly, “Of course, you’ll want to know the depth of her,” he paused looking for the right word, “impairment.” John nodded and Sherlock spoke again, “And her things, if you know where Ms. Addler put them.” My croft nodded, “I’ve seen to all the pertinent things, for the most part. Though, I’ll leave the choice of schools up to you.” Sherlock nodded and John watched him carefully. After a moment Mycroft cleared his throat and said, “If that will be all, Gentlemen I have a government to run.” John nodded and smiled slightly, “Drop round for tea one day and meet her… officially.” Mycroft nodded, “One day, yes, though not today.” With that Sherlock swept out of the building and John had no excuse but to follow.

  
The ride back to 221B was uneventful and neither John nor Sherlock spoke. John wondered idly how their schedules would change and Sherlock wondered if she’d stopped crying yet. When they returned to the flat, things were quiet; there was no muffled sobbing just the sound of Mrs. Hudson bustling about in the kitchen. John and Sherlock paused at the door and looked around, wondering where she’d gone and Mrs. Hudson turned to put a dish away, “I tucked her into your bed, Sherlock. The poor thing was worn out. I imagine she’ll feel better after a nap.” She paused for a moment thinking, “Oh, John a courier cam by with a parcel for you and a note saying that Anthea will be around later to bring Shelby some of her things.” John nodded and kissed Mrs. Hudson’s cheek, “You’re a god send, Mrs. Hudson.” He picked up the parcel and opened it, “Excellent, medical records; I’ll just leaf through these while she’s napping.”

Sherlock nodded and squeezed Mrs. Hudson’s shoulder before turning to walk into his bedroom. He went and perched gingerly on the edge of the bed.  
His daughter was sprawled out on her tummy sleeping the sleep of the innocent, or truly exhausted. Her breathing was quiet, and he was glad to hear, untroubled. He reached out and brushed her hair with the tips of his fingers and leaned forward to kiss her cheek. She stirred and murmured something unintelligible, “It’s alright, you’re safe.” He said softly as he tucked the blanket more tightly around her shoulders before he stood and left the room, leaving the door cracked open slightly.

  
When he returned to the living room, Mrs. Hudson had gone, presumably for a nap of her own, and John was at his desk hunched over Shelby’s medical file. Sherlock crossed the room to his violin and picked it up, before sinking into a chair, “Anything important?” John hummed and nodded, “She was born to early and too small and due to a birth complication she had a lack of oxygen to her brain.” He turned to look at Sherlock, “Apparently the Cerebral Palsy doesn’t really affect her brain, just the way she moves. I’ll see what I can arrange for therapy.” Sherlock nodded and plucked his violin quietly tuning the strings, “Where are her braces?” John gestured towards the edge of the couch where Mrs. Hudson had taken off her shoes.

  
The braces and shoes were sitting side by side with long socks laid out over the top. Sherlock looked over and winced a little. They were so tiny. John was watching him carefully, waiting. But nothing happened, Sherlock set his bow to the strings and started playing softly to himself, composing god only knew what. John sighed inwardly and turned back to the file. Aside from the Cerebral Palsy there wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, her heart and lungs were fine, her IQ was average, though the psychologist noted that her stubbornness had probably skewed the results. Her school records were too brief to be interesting, but apparently she could read very well and swam like a fish. She also loved to be read to and was constantly telling herself stories.  
The two men were engrossed in their tasks and didn’t immediately hear the soft grumbles from behind the bedroom door. John heard the rustling of the covers and took a break to stop and stretch before closing the file and storing it away. The soft thud of feet hitting the floor and the creak of the door alerted Sherlock and he stopped mid note and turned slightly. Shelby stood at the door rubbing her eyes. Her cheeks were pink and her hair was tangled. When she stopped rubbing her eyes, they were bleary and disoriented with sleep. She was dragging her bunny by the arm and stretching as she looked around. John chuckled, “Hello sweetheart, did you sleep well?” She rubbed her eyes again and yawned, “I don’t know yet.”

  
She climbed onto the chair and pulled her bunny into her lap before looking around. John couldn’t tell if she was deducing or trying to get her bearings again. She stroked her stuffed companions ears and looked at Sherlock, “What do you do?” Sherlock couldn’t quite bring himself to look at her and instead looked at his violin, “I am a consulting detective.” She thought for a second and frowned, “What’s that?” Sherlock looked at the child on the chair and huffed slightly, “What do you think it is?” Her eyes narrowed slightly and she looked at Sherlock like he was an idiot, “If I knew that, I wouldn’t be asking.”

  
John tried, he really did but he snorted. He earned a glare from Sherlock and a perplexed look from Shelby, “What? It’s true. I asked because I don’t know.” John just burst into laughter, the look on Sherlock’s face was priceless. While he was trying to pull himself together Sherlock floundered for an explanation, “I solve mysteries for people.” Shelby looked at him intently and seemed to be searching for something, “Why?” Sherlock looked back at her, “Why does it matter.” She huffed at him, an unmistakably Sherlockian huff, and rolled her eyes, “Because it does. Why can’t people solve their own mysteries?” Sherlock closed his eyes and plucked a string on his violin, “Because people are idiots.” “Why?” Sherlock opened his eyes again only to close them again, running out of patience, “Why, what?” Shelby huffed again, “Why are people idiots?” Sherlock plucked his violin and willed himself to not get angry, “Because, they see but do not observe.”

  
Shelby looked from Sherlock to John and hugged her bunny again, John could see she thought Sherlock was joking and it hurt. John stood up and went over to the couch and crouched infront of it so they were level, he didn’t have much experience with children, but it was worth a go. “Your dad can see things other people can’t. So he helps people so they get the answers they need.” She looked up from the soft beige fur and he ran his thumb over her cheek, “He’s frustrating but he’s one of the good guys, I promise.” She nodded and John smiled, “There’s a good girl. Now give me a smile and we’ll go see about some lunch.” She smiled a little and John chucked her under the chin, “Come on then. I think it’s time for some lunch and a walk.”

He smiled and stood up to retrieve her shoes and braces from by the door. She sighed and held out her hands, “I can do it.” She didn’t look annoyed or anything just resigned as she pulled up her pants legs and started to roll up the first sock. Her knees were covered in scars and scabs, and John tutted, “Goodness me, how’d you get all those!” She stopped rolling up the sock and spoke into her lap, “I fall down a lot. When I go see Miss Amy she helps me so I don’t no more” Sherlock winced at the grammar mistake but for once, didn’t correct it, just watched intently. John nodded and ruffled her hair, “It’s alright, everybody gets tripped up sometimes.” Shelby rolled the first sock up her little leg and repeated the process with the other one. Then the left brace, then the right followed by shoes. Sneakers just the right size to fit over the plastic that covers her legs. Practical blue and white and lacking any adornment. John noticed that her hands were clumsy and shaking as she tried to tie the laces and John wanted to just reach out and do it but he restrained himself. They weren’t in any urgent rush. And she’s 5. he thought, it’ll get better with practice.

  
John stood up again and held out a hand when she had tied the second lace. She took it and John helped her off the chair, her grip was reassuringly strong and her hands were warm, she wasn’t frightened anymore, or at least the curiosity outweighed the anxiety. He turned to look at Sherlock, “You coming?” the detective regarded them both and shrugged, “I suppose so.” He laid aside his violin and stood up and with that the trio left 221B.


	2. Hogwarts and Fairytales

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sherlock expresses a dislike for my choice of stories.

The trio made their way to a small restaurant with things John was fairly certain a kid would want to eat. They didn’t know what Shelby’s eating habits were, but he figured they could learn as they went, she didn’t seem to be to particular about things. She hadn’t let go of his hand and he found the warmth reassuring, she seemed healthy despite being pale and fragile looking. He looked down and noted that she was watching everything, or atleast as much of everything as she could see from her level. He also noted that Sherlock was walking slightly behind them. He shrugged to himself and ran his thumb over the tiny fingers he was holding. They walked along in silence for the most part. It was, truth be told a little awkward. Sherlock watched John and Shelby walking side by side and felt a twinge of something he didn’t really understand, jealousy, he thought. It was so easy for John. He huffed to himself and turned to look up at the nearest CCTV camera and fought the urge to tell Shelby to wave. Though, Sherlock thought with a smile, it probably would have taken 5 minutes of in depth explaining before she’d even consider it.

He was a bit lost in thought, had he not been, he might have been able to prevent it, but mid step, her feet got tangled up. She tripped and hit the ground, hard. John felt her hand slip out of his and stopped, startled. It happened before either Sherlock or John could catch her.

She pulled herself up right and looked at her palms over. She wasn’t crying or anything but Sherlock knelt down next to her and brushed hair out of her eyes, “Are you alright?” She sighed and nodded as she pulled back her pants legs to look at her knees, The scabs had broken open but didn’t seem to be bleeding too badly so she shrugged and rolled her pant legs back down, “I’m fine.” She moved to climb very carefully back to her feet and Sherlock put a hand on her back to help her keep her balance. Once she was on her feet, John ruffled her hair, “I’ll bandage you up when we get home”. Shelby shook her head and held out her hands, “They’re fine, see?” John nodded and smiled a little, “Tough little thing, you didn’t even whimper.” She looked up at him indignant, “I didn’t fall that hard!” Sherlock smiled and picked her up to carry her the rest of the way, she let him but didn’t look happy about it, “All the same” he said, “let’s not get acquainted with the pavement again today.”

He held her close to him and she snuggled against his shoulder as he carried to the hole in the wall restaurant. John watched with interest, he seemed a little less stunned now, but then it was hard to tell with Sherlock. At the very least, John thought, at least now they knew she wasn’t dramatic about little cuts and scrapes. That was a good thing. He’d treated kids at the clinic who screamed for paper cuts.

Lunch was uneventful, Shelby and John ate grilled cheese and tomato soup and Sherlock had some sort of grilled chicken thing that he had to explain to the waitress twice. Shelby asked a bunch of questions about being a doctor and John took the opportunity to ask a bunch of questions about her likes and dislikes.

Most of her likes revolved around books and animals. She wanted to be a veterinarian and someday she wanted a pet owl. Sherlock raised an eyebrow at that, “Why?” Shelby looked at him, indignant, “Because they carry letters.” He looked confused and shook his head and John just smiled, “Would you go to Hogwarts too?” She nodded and hastily swallowed a bit of grilled cheese, “I think I’d like Charms the most.”Sherlock pulled the phone out if his pocket and hastily tapped at the keyboard before nodding in understanding, “You have all the books then?” She nodded again, “Uh-huh, Kate read them to me.

By the time they were back at Baker Street, Mycroft’s people had been by to deliver some of her belongings. Some books, a handheld gaming device, clothes, toiletries, enough to keep her occupied and dressed until they could figure out proper sleeping arrangements.

Shelby took off her shoes and braces and settled herself on the floor with a book and set cross legged with Dinah in her lap. Sherlock knelt on the floor next to her and looked down at the book she was reading, “Fairytales?” he snorted in derision and Shelby picked up the book. “Aren’t you too old for those.” Shelby glared at him and closed the book, caressing the cover affectionately, “You’re never too old for Fairytales.” Sherlock reached out to take the book and Shelby pulled it against her chest, protectively. “I won’t hurt it.” He gestured to the book Shelves behind him “I’d never hurt a book.” John looked up from his desk and snorted, “The walls are up for grabs, though.” Shelby looked from John to Sherlock and nodded slowly, surrendering the book to her father.

Sherlock took the book and slipped through it slowly, the well-worn pages were the adventures. He smiled, the romantic stories were practically untouched. He watched the girl sitting in the middle of a pile of books, all of them seemed to be adventures. Princesses and dragons and daring sword fights… Maybe Fairytales weren’t all bad. The consulting detective settled himself on the floor next to his daughter and handed her the beloved fairytale book before picking up a book called; Dealing with Dragons, a boot that was apparently about a princess who refused to be proper. John, watching from his desk watched the scene  for a moment before snapping a picture on his phone.


	3. Chapter 3

Their days slipped into a predictable pattern. John moved into Sherlock’s room and Shelby was put into John’s. Therapy, the Clinic, cases, and outings to the library or the zoo made up most of their days. John was glad they had the summer to adjust to things and each other. All things considered, things went pretty smoothly. There were a few hurdles, getting Shelby to warm up to her new therapist, getting Sherlock to pick a school, and convincing Sherlock that crime scenes weren’t a suitable playground for 5 year olds were the only big ones. The rest of them were just wall colors and introductions. Little things, but a few calls to Mycroft and a few smiles and her walls were a suitable color and she had half of Scotland Yard wrapped around her little finger.

It was just another day, John untangled himself from Sherlock, put himself more or less together, and went to wake Shelby up the first time before going to start breakfast. He’d go back in 15 minutes and wake her again, but mornings went a lot easier if you gave her a few minutes for her brain to catch up to her body. He heard the familiar thud of putting his feet on the floor and poured a mug of coffee to set in the detectives normal spot. His geniuses were not morning people, he reflected smiling. Sherlock to his spot and looked around, “Where’s Shelby?” John shook his head and sipped his coffee, “Not quite joined the living yet, I was just about to go get her.” Sherlock nodded and stirred the cream and sugar into his coffee, “I can get her.” John chuckled, “No you can’t she has therapy today and if you go get her you’ll both go back to sleep.” Sherlock scrubbed his face with his hands, “That was one time, John” John kissed his head and turned to walk upstairs, “And it was cute. But not today, I have a grumpy prodigy to take to therapy.”

John walked upstairs and Sherlock leaned back in his chair drinking his coffee and listening to the muffled voices of his boyfriend and his daughter. He knew that John was the best at coaxing her into the waking world. Even if it took a while some mornings. It took a while but John thudded back down the stairs shaking his head and chuckling, as he got down the cereal and grabbed the milk out of the fridge, “Bloody geniuses.” Sherlock turned to look at John, “What’s wrong?” John smiled, “Nothing’s wrong, she’s just decided that after therapy we have to prove dragons are real… I think she wants one for her birthday.” Sherlock smirked, “Well, when I was her age I wanted a canon so…” John settled himself at the table with his toast and eggs just as Shelby walked carefully down the stairs carrying her braces and shoes and trying very hard to keep her feet flat and walk left right on the stairs, just like Mark told her to. John watched and noticed Sherlock tense next to him, even her little tumbles had a tendency to be nerve wracking when it came to stairs. John noted with a note of pride that even if she couldn’t quite make “left right” on the stairs work, that she was keeping her feet flat.

Once she made it safely to the bottom she laid her shoes and braces down so she could put them on later. She walked into the kitchen rubbing her eyes as she climbed onto a chair. John fixed her bowl of cereal and ruffled her hair as she picked up a spoon, and it trembled out of her hand and clattered onto the floor. She frowned and John bent to pick it up and grabbed another from the drainer, sighing internally, he hated these days.

Her hands shook and she needed help doing things that ordinarily she could do perfectly well. Picking up a spoon or gripping shoelaces could take 3 or 4 tries and it frustrated her. She was frustrated and her temper ran shorter and she hated everything. John caught Sherlock’s eye across the table and shook his head briefly, she wasn’t sick, just shaky. Sherlock nodded and got up to refill his coffee before going to go get dressed. Once Shelby managed to pick up the spoon and tuck in to breakfast, John followed suit. He shrugged into a shirt and pulled on his pants and Sherlock watched him carefully, “Do you want me to handle therapy today?” John shook his head and rubbed his face, “No, we’ll be fine.” Sherlock took his hand, “She’s my child, I feel responsible… You don’t have to… I mean.” John laughed and kissed his cheek, “We’ll be fine. Go find a case.”

Sherlock nodded and turned to plod down the stairs and finish his coffee. John finished getting dressed and made a mental list of all the things to be done before doing the same. In the kitchen, Shelby had apparently given up on breakfast and was sitting next to Sherlock while he read through messages about cases on the laptop. John paused and thought about saying something as he looked at the half finish bowl of Cheerios and decided against it. When she started shaking and got frustrated by something it was better to let her walk away. He’d coax her at lunch time if he needed to. Sherlock turned and kissed the top of Shelby’s head, “Behave today… Or try your best anyway.” She looked up at him and smiled a little, “Is there a good one today?” Sherlock nodded and pointed at the screen, “That one, right there.” Shelby looked at the screen, her forehead furrowed in concentration and Sherlock waited with more patience then John would have thought possible while she pieced things together and figured out the words she didn’t know, or read around them.

She turned and crinkled her nose, “That’s nasty” He tapped the end of her nose with his left index finger, “And that’s all the more reason to solve it.” She pulled another face and Sherlock ruffled her hair, “Work hard in therapy.” Sherlock kissed John on the cheek and snatched up his jacket off the back of his chair as he swept out the door.

Shelby shut the laptop carefully and wiggled off the chair. John made a mental note to have Sherlock censor the cases he let Shelby read, she was a little nightmare prone. It was all active imagination, he knew that, but still it was a little unpleasant waking up to a 5 year old screaming bloody murder. “Come on sweetheart, time for shoes.” He smiled and grabbed their jackets incase it rained as she started to put her socks on. It seemed to take a painfully long time for her to tie her laces and by the time she finished she was practically in tears, “I’m sorry.” Her voice was practically a whisper and John scooped her up carefully, “It’s alright, we have plenty of time. We’re not in a hurry. And even if we were, it’s not your fault.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and snuggled against him, not wanting to be put down again. For probably the millionth time since Irene dropped her on their doorstep, he swore he’d shoot her if he ever saw her again.

When they made it to therapy Shelby still wasn’t quite perked up but then, she hated therapy. She hated doing the same few things over and over but mostly she hated that it hurt. John surrendered the girl to Dr. Mark’s capable hands and retreated to the waiting room to pace. He knew she’d be fine, a little sore and maybe tired, but fine. It still bothered him, no more than it bothered Sherlock, probably in some regards, less than it bothered Sherlock. Sherlock had gone to therapy one time and that was the only time John ever wanted to go through it. The detective’s over protective streak went into complete overdrive. He questioned everything Mark tried to do and stressed Shelby out to the point of tears because she didn’t know who to listen to. It was a complete fiasco. John didn’t like it, either but it had to be done.

He learned after watching a few times that it was easier to just wait unless he was called. He knew it might be better if he was there, but that was one thing he couldn’t watch. It wasn’t even that bad, compared to what it could have been, but it broke his heart a little every time she stumbled and he couldn’t scoop her back up. So he waited and paced. He didn’t bother to check his watch, they always ran over a bit because Mark liked to talk. He liked to know what his kids were reading and all those little things that made them proud of themselves. It helped, he said, to know what they were proud of so he’d know what to push them for. At a little over an hour, an Aid with curly red hair lead Shelby to the waiting room. She looked tired. John smiled his thanks at the aid and she smiled and nodded before turning on her heel and going back to the therapy rooms. John knelt and held out his hands, “Ready to go home, sweetheart?” She took his hands and nodded, “I did stairs again today.”

He nodded and stood up, “I bet you’re hungry then, you didn’t eat very much breakfast.” She shook her head, “I just hurt.” He put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently, he would have liked to say, “I know.” But he didn’t. Because he knew there was something about all those daily aches and pains he’d not really understand, “Well maybe after a rest, we’ll go see if your dad’s solved the case yet. I bet he’d like your help.” She shrugged and John just let her think. He knew she wasn’t really hearing him. Not the way Sherlock did, ignoring everything to solve a puzzle, she blocked everything out so she could be a hero for a while instead of well… her. Even after they got home and she was snuggled up on the couch with Dinah, she still wasn’t quite with him. He’d be worried if he hadn’t been through it before, but he knew she’d be more or less back to normal once the adventure in her head reached a satisfactory conclusion.

He rattled around in the kitchen for a while pondering lunch and sure enough it didn’t take long to hear her footsteps. She stood in the doorway and stretched, “Can I help?” John walked over to her and knelt down, “Feeling better then?” She shrugged and John kissed her forehead, “I was thinking about some macaroni and cheese, hows that sound.” She nodded and turned to go get her step stool from the closet and John went to go get the things they needed for lunch. Shelby pulled her step stool over to the counter and stepped up on it, waiting for instructions. John brought over a measuring cup, the milk and the box over to her, “Take a look and see how much milk we need.” She looked at him with a devastatingly accurate imitation of Sherlock’s “Really?” face. John chucked her under the chin, “Right, you’ve got this.” He stood back a bit to let her do it, watching carefully, ready to catch the jug if it started to slip. It didn’t and he relaxed a bit as she set it on the counter, “There. Now what?” He ruffled brushed her hair back and gave the boiling noodles a stir, “Now we wait a minute then stir it together… Just you wait, a few years and you’ll be a first rate chef.” She giggled, “John, it’s just macaroni. And I want to be a veterinarian.”

John stirred the pasta again and leaned against the counter and chuckled, “We’re back to that then? I thought you wanted to be an explorer!” She shrugged and put a pad on the counter and reached up to get the colander out of the cupboard, “I could do both.” He tried not to smile, she looked so serious, “Could you?” She look at him and her eyes narrowed slightly, “Why not?” He did smile then, and her forehead furrowed in confusion, he shook his head and the timer on the stove went off. He stirred the pasta one last time, turned off the burner and picked up the pan to pour the contents into the colander “Careful love, the steam is hot.” Shelby leaned back a little out of the way and steam billowed out of the sink, “Very hot” she said nodding

. He picked up the colander and poured its contents back into the pot and set the pot on the hot pad, “Careful stirring” he said before leaning back on the counter to let Shelby add the powder, milk, and butter into the pan. She stirred carefully and John kept careful watch. He watched her switch hands stirring and let her left rest on the counter. He waited until she was satisfied, she hated lumps of cheese powder that weren’t stirred in. When she was happy with it, she looked at him and smiled, “Done.” He kissed her head and put cheesy noodles into both the bowls he’d gotten down and followed her over to the table.

She pecked at it around her chattering and John just smiled and nodded at most of it, he had no idea what was so fascinating about mummified cats and papyrus scrolls, but the enthusiasm was contagious. Her little leaps and bunny trails into other things only really made sense to her, but that was okay, She was learning things and that was the important bit. John sort of faded out on her, thinking, and was vaguely aware that she’d asked him something, when he drifted back in she was looking at him waiting for an answer, “I’m sorry Shelby, what? I drifted a bit.” She sighed and rolled her eyes, “Can we go help dad?” John smiled, “Let me make sure he’s not at the crime scene, then we’ll go” She nodded and hopped off her chair to take her now empty dish to the sink, “Okay. I’m going to go read my book.” John pulled out his phone and listened to the sound of her footsteps on the stairs before he started his text

_At the crime scene?_ -JW

_No._ -SH

_Good. Want some help?_ -JW

_A second opinion is always useful._ -SH

_Right. There soon._ -JW

John put his phone back in his pocket and headed upstairs. He knocked briefly and stuck his head in the door. Shelby was sitting crosslegged on her bed with an enormous book about Egypt spread across her bed. He watched for a second and cleared his throat, she hadn’t heard him knock and jumped slightly, “Huh?” He grinned, articulate enough to tell off her Uncle and all she could manage startled was “Huh”. It was absurdly amusing, “Fancy an outing?” She smiled and nodded as she wriggled off the bed and went to get her shoes and braces.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm still sorry

Molly was thrilled when John and Shelby walked into the lab. Molly loved teaching her about little things, and trying to dumb down or expand on Sherlock’s ramblings about this or that and Shelby just like to know things. Anything really, she had a magpie like tendency to horde away scraps of information that interested her. Sherlock treated her questions carefully and John could tell there were moments when he had to remember that she was 5 and it wasn’t always the how but the why and still other times she really didn’t care and just wanted to go play at the park.

Still, he adored it and frequently said that she was better than his skull. He’d never admit it, but on the most frustrating day they’d had together so far, Shelby’s constant chatter and those constant “Why’s” actually helped him solve a case because they made him re-think things and make them simpler.

Today, Shelby was perched on a stool with Sherlock standing behind her, she was helping him prepare a petri dish. He was telling her about identifying fungus using some compound or other that he’d concocted. She was listening attentively and doing the things Sherlock told her to do, it was adorable and almost completely normal. John caught Molly trying to discreetly snap a picture on her phone and chuckled. He’d have to ask her to send it to him later. 

John jerked his head towards the door and Molly nodded, she’d keep an eye on them while John made a coffee run. John knew Sherlock wouldn’t do anything that would put her in danger but it was good to have a responsible adult around. He walked out the door and as it shut behind him their voices were rendered indistinct. 

Sherlock knew that Molly had snapped a picture and that John had left but he doubted that Shelby had noticed. She was very intently carrying out the little things that Sherlock set her to doing. He knew it was sentiment but he was proud of her. She tried so hard to do everything exactly like he said, even while her hands were trembling. He couldn’t see her face, but he knew the tension in her shoulders and that she was trying very hard to make it stop so she could help. He leaned down and brushed his lips against her hair and took her hands carefully to help her hold the instruments steady, "Here, you’re doing a good job, but let me help.” He felt her relax a little bit and he guided her hands gently, “Good, job. That’s done now.” They laid the things aside and Sherlock lead her to the sink and helped her wash her hands she looked up at him grinning, “Now what?” He dried his hands, “Now, you go home.”

Shelby frowned and folded her arms across her chest, “Why? I was helping!” Sherlock knelt down like he’d seen John do when explaining something to her, “You did help, and I’d like for you to stay, but you need to go home and rest. You’ve had a long day.” Shelby opened her mouth to argue and Sherlock shook his head, “I know, but you’re 5. You need your sleep.” She huffed at him and Sherlock pulled her into a hug so she couldn’t see him smiling


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> School

The next big hurdle was school. Sherlock had finally picked a school, supplies and uniforms had been arranged, and Shelby was less than excited. John couldn’t understand it, she was clever and he was sure her teachers would adore her, even at her most frustrating. After all, how many kids her age were already reading the way she did, and understanding it. Sherlock seemed to understand it though.

That morning sitting at the breakfast table Shelby was distracted and Sherlock patted her on the shoulder, “It’ll be fine.” She looked up at him and her eyes narrowed, “Every time you say that, it’s not.” He kissed her head, “I have to be right eventually.” John sipped his coffee, “We better be going soon, we’ve got a bit of a walk.” She pushed away the half eaten cereal and slid off the chair to go get her braces and shoes. Sherlock watched her go and frowned, “It’s not too late. I could have Mycroft arrange tutors.” John chuckled and got up to put his mug in the sink, “She’ll be fine.” He hugged the detective and brushed an errant lock of hair out of his eyes, “Her teachers will adore her.” 

Sherlock sighed and kissed John’s cheek as the distinct clicking sound of Shelby’s braces clicking. She stopped in the door way and looked distinctly uncomfortable in her uniform. John smiled, “You look very pretty.” She crinkled her nose and Sherlock smirked as he crossed the room, “Don’t set the bar too high today.” He ruffled her hair and swept out the door nearly knocking into Mrs. Hudson.  
She was all in a tizzy adjusting Shelby’s uniform and telling John her face needed scrubbing and would he please get a rag. Shelby submitted to this with a little less patience than normal squirming and looking less than pleased. John shook his head and put his hand on their landlady’s shoulder, “Mrs. Hudson, we’re going to be late.” She stopped and put her hands over her mouth, “We can’t have that!” John smiled and kissed her cheek as he picked up Shelby’s bag pack, “Come on, love” She took his hand and Mrs. Hudson all but shooed them out the door.

They walked along, it was a bright day and already getting warm but Shelby’s hands were freezing. John ran his thumb along the small cold fingers and frowned, she was scared. Or at the very least anxious. He looked down at her, she looked a little anxious, she was distracted and didn’t even notice the lady walking her dogs. Ordinarily they would have had to stop so she could pet them and ask their names. John squeezed her hand and shifted her bag pack and Shelby looked up at him, “Yeah?” He brushed bangs out of her eyes, her eyes were watering and she looked like she was about to cry. She looked down quickly and tugged at her skirt and John knelt down in front of her, “Come here.” He pulled her into a hug and Shelby buried her face against his neck sniffling. He kissed her head and hugged her tight, “It’ll be fine, love. Why are you so upset? Tough little thing like you. Come on now.” She was sobbing and clinging to his neck and John wished Sherlock was there. He scooped her up and carried her to a bench to sit down and give her a few minutes to calm down, she didn’t cry for much, but she did, it took a while for her to be able to talk. John sighed and settled in, ignoring the people who were glancing their way. It was annoying, it’s not as if she was screaming blue murder. 

He just played with her hair and kept hold of her until she started to take deeper breaths and be able to calm down, “There, that’s better.” He kissed her temple and fished a packet of tissues out of his pocket, “Here, wipe your face.” She took the tissues and wiped her face, and blew her nose, “I’m sorry.” He tickled the back of her neck and she giggled, “That’s better” She wrapped her arms back around his neck and he rubbed her back, “What’s wrong?” She sighed and stared resolutely at her lap, “People will stare. They always stare.”  
John looked down at her braces, clearly visible in her school skirt and felt his heart drop. He hugged her and kissed the side of her head again, “I’m sorry Shelby.” He thought for a second and stroked her hair, “We’ll talk to the school and see if we can fix it, okay?” She nodded and took a deep breath, “Okay.” Her voice was small and he knew she was still a little upset, but looked a bit less anxious. He helped her off his lap and squeezed her hand, “Hey, look at me.” She looked at him and smiled a little. John tapped the end of her nose, “You are clever, kind, and brave, be like one of the Princesses in your storybooks. Just pretend it’s an adventure. Can you do that for me?” She nodded and stood a little straighter. John nodded and stood up, “Come on then, Princess. You have dragons to slay.”

They made it the rest of the way to school without incident and John delivered her to the classroom with a sense of hesitation. Kids were indeed staring, and some of them were pointing. He winced internally and bent to kiss the top of Shelby’s head, “I’ll be back to pick you up, me or Mrs. Hudson.” She nodded and John could see her mentally steeling herself as she turned to hug him good bye, “Bye, John.” He smiled again, tough little thing, “Bye, Princess.”  
He walked away and it took all his self control not to look back.


	6. Proper Armor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first day at school didn't go as planned.

By the time John got home from the clinic, Mrs. Hudson had picked Shelby up from school and was reading a magazine on the couch. Shelby was no where to be seen. John looked around, “How’d today go?” Mrs. Hudson sighed and shook her head and John felt his heart drop, “Where is she?” Mrs. Hudson put the magazine aside and stood up, “Her room. I brought her home, she took off her shoes, and ran upstairs.” John nodded, “Thank you Mrs. Hudson, I think I can handle it from here.” Their landlady nodded and patted John’s arm as she walked by.

John sank into a chair and pulled out his phone.

You need to come home.-JW

Why?-SH

You were wrong again today.-JW

John didn’t bother to wait for a reply, he knew Sherlock would be coming. He hauled himself out of his chair with effort and turned to walk up stairs. He knocked on the door and got no reply so he knocked louder, “Go away.” He sighed, “Shelby, what happened?” He heard the covers rustle as she wrapped her self up more firmly, “Go away, John.” John leaned against the door, she was angry at him and it was a terrible feeling. He thought about opening the door and sitting next to her for a while but he knew she wouldn’t talk to him. She wouldn’t talk to anyone until she was ready. 

Sherlock arrived home, his face impassive as he walked through the door. John looked up at him, it’s your turn, “She wouldn’t talk to me.” Sherlock nodded and bent to kiss his boyfriend, “It’s not your fault, John.” John smiled sadly, “It might be. I told her to treat today like an adventure.” 

Sherlock nodded and kissed him again before making his way upstairs. Sherlock had hoped things had changed a bit since he was in school, but obviously, they hadn’t. Being different was hard, and he’d imagine that being visibly different was even harder. He didn’t bother to knock, he just opened the door and came to sit at the end of her bed. If she noticed him she gave no sign. She was staring at her fairytale book as if it were going to give her some magical answer.

He sat there, letting her be silent, absorbed in his own thoughts, it startled him a little when she spoke, “They laughed at me and people kept trying to trip me.” Sherlock started to reach out and touch her but stopped, “People are idiots.” She wiped her nose on her sleeve, “Then when we were reading and I finished the story because it was easy they called me a freak. I’m not right?”

She looked at him, trembling and trying very hard not to cry and that tore it. He scooped her up into his lap and hugged her tight, “Obviously not.” She hugged him back clinging to him for dear life, “I tried to be brave.” He kissed the top of her head, “I think you were very brave.” She relaxed her death grip on him and he shifted her over gently, “Let me see your knees, Do they need bandaged?” She shook her head and showed him, she’d already taken care of it. It was a little clumsy but serviceable. He helped her roll her pants legs down and stood up, “I’ll call the school tomorrow, we’ll see what we can do about all this.” She nodded and Sherlock left the room leaving her to pull herself together.

He turned to walk down the stairs and walked into the living room. John looked at him expectantly, “Well?” Sherlock smiled ruefully, “They shoved her around a bit and called her a freak.” John frowned, “What’d the teacher do?” Sherlock shrugged, “It doesn’t matter. Kids will be cruel regardless. She’s different and must be brought to heel.” John nodded, “I guess I never had that problem.” Sherlock just picked up his violin and started playing.

It took a while but Shelby made her way down stairs and curled up in a chair. She’d changed out of her uniform and into more comfortable jeans and a t shirt. John watched her discreetly from his desk and sighed internally. The anger had gone out of her and she just seemed sad. The rest of the evening was quiet. Sherlock played his violin, Shelby played with her handheld, and John blogged. Supper was uneventful, both of John’s geniuses picked at their food and Shelby left the table to go hide back in her room. As John cleared the plates to put them in the sink he shook his head, she’d hardly touched anything. It wasn’t healthy, but he knew already it was easier to just let it go, that she’d eat when she was hungry. And Sherlock was just, Sherlock.

That night after he’d tucked her into bed, Sherlock came back down stairs and sat down next to John. John was watching the news without taking in any of the information, “Is she okay?” Sherlock pulled the doctor closer and settled more comfortably, “No, but she’s 5. She’ll be fine eventually.” John laid his head on Sherlock’s shoulder, “I think I fucked it up today, telling her to treat it like an adventure.” Sherlock squeezed him gently and kissed his head, “You had to tell her something.” John shook his head, “You didn’t hear how angry she was when she got home.”

They sat together in silence for a while, “She’s not angry with you, you know. She’s angry at herself.” Sherlock said quietly. “You got her to believe that it would be okay, and then she had to go and mess it up.” John kissed his cheek, “Bloody Geniuses.” Sherlock smirked and John continued, “I think we need to go have a talk with the school tomorrow and get them to let her wear pants.” Sherlock nodded and John continued, “It might make it easier for her to slay a few dragons if she has the proper armor.”


	7. Movie Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff and Angst.

School got a little easier once the school agreed to let her mix uniforms. Kids still picked on her but the tripping slowed and then stopped after some… intervention on her behalf. John could understand even if he couldn’t condone Mycroft using his connections to contact every parent of every child who’d laid a hand on his niece. Their days settled into something of a routine. School cases, and Friday night was ALWAYS movie night. Even if Sherlock was on a case, Shelby and John would cuddle up on the couch with a bowl of popcorn and a suitable movie. That night, it was Tangled.

It had to have been the 50th time she’s watched that movie but she was so happy whenever her favorite parts happened that John couldn’t bring himself to make her pick another. She knew all the words to the songs and sang them with gusto. She watched wide eyed and worried when Mother Gothel took Rapunzel and buried her face in John’s side whimpering when things looked like they were going to end badly. John smiled and tousled her hair, “You know how it ends, love.” She looked up at him, “It’s still scary.” He frowned and brushed hair out of her eyes, “Why, it isn’t real.” She looked down and laced her fingers together, “Because if bad guys win in stories, what about me?” John sat there, in stunned silence for a second and Shelby turned back to look at the TV just in time to watch the happy ending.

John watched, her for a moment. Realizing that she didn’t go on adventures in her head because she wanted to, but because she needed to; she needed to feel like she could be a hero and not just… little. He pulled himself together log enough to lean forward and kiss her head as the end credits rolled, “Bedtime, princess.” She sighed and slid off the couch and John gathered up the popcorn bowl, “I’ll be up in a minute.” He listened to the sounds of her feet on the stairs and the dull thud of dresser drawers being opened and shut and he washed things and put them away.

He paused at the foot of the stairs for a moment, listening to her singing to herself as she got ready for bed. She sounded content and that made John happy. When she’d first been dropped on their doorstep, when he’d seen the letter that said she was just too much trouble, he didn’t know what to expect. Tantrums, behavioral issues, medical issues; but she was normal… well mostly. Irene had no idea what she was going to miss out on. John walked up the stairs and opened the door to Shelby’s room. She was waiting to be tucked in, flipping through a book of Anatomy for children that Molly had found for her. John perched on the edge of her bed and waited patiently for her to look up, she knew he was there, she’d moved her foot out of his way.

It took a few seconds but she looked up and set her book aside as she snuggled under the covers. He kissed her head and tucked the covers in around her, “Goodnight, love.” She held Dinah out and he kissed her too, “Goodnight, Dinah.” She tucked the rabbit in next to her and looked up at John, “John, is my mummy really not coming back?” John started a bit, and must have looked hurt because he heard her starting to apologize. John hushed her gently and brushed the hair out of her face, “I really don’t know. She says she’s not.” Shelby nodded and seemed to be processing so John waited. She didn’t seem upset, just confused, “Why’d she leave me here?” John couldn’t help it, there was something about the way her nose crinkled and her head tilted when she said it, he smiled. “Because Sherlock is your father, and you’re brilliant. She knew he’d take care of you.” He said. He didn’t say that she’d said it was his turn to live her nightmare. He fussed with the blankets to have something to do with his hands while he waited for the inevitable next question, “When will dad come home?” she asked. John kissed her cheek, and winced internally at the subtext, “Is he going to leave too?” He ran his fingers through her hair and clicked off the light, “He’ll be home as soon as he can. He’ll never leave you forever.” He stood up and turned towards the door, listening to Shelby situating herself on the bed, “I love you, John.” He stopped and turned back towards her, “I love you too, sweetheart.”

It was a bit of a shock, She told Sherlock she loved him, and Molly, and Mrs. Hudson, but she’d never said that to him. He eased her door part of the way shut and leaned against the wall. It felt a little like his chest was going to explode. He made his way down stairs and his heart went from near exploding to stone cold.

Irene Adler was sitting on the sofa, regarding him critically, “Domesticity suits you, Dr. Watson.”


	8. Perfume

John’s body went tense. The soldier’s stance coming back to him like the discipline he used to not beat Irene senseless, “I wish I could say it was a pleasure to see you Ms. Adler.” Irene laughed softly and settled herself more comfortably, “You’re being terribly formal aren’t you? After all you’ve been bandaging skinned knees and reading story books for my child. You’re an excellent nanny.”  
John felt his hands tighten into fists and his resolve not to Irene was weakening, “You need to leave.” Irene looked at him, her expression inscrutable in the half light, “She’s not your child. You can’t keep me from her.” John smiled tightly, “You dropped her on my doorstep. You abandoned her. A 5 year old. In London. If you want to call yourself a parent, you have a lot of explaining to do. And I don’t want to hear it. Leave. Or I will bring the wrath of the British Government down on your head… He does hate to be pulled from meetings for family matters.” He didn’t mention the letter but the Woman did seem to hear the implication.

Irene stood with the languid grace of a lioness on the prowl and stalked with dignity out of the flat. She left behind nothing but the smell of her perfume.

John didn’t know what to do after that and he didn’t remember walking up the stairs to sit on the floor next to his old room, but that’s where Sherlock found him. The detective didn’t say anything but coaxed John to his feet and into their room. Neither of them slept well. They listened. Irene’s sudden appearance didn’t bode well for their new found domesticity and they both knew it. They loved her because she brought out their best. And she loved them in that generous uncomplicated way that only children are capable of. If you listened, the flat echoed with the quiet sound of her breathing. She’d gone to bed happy, her breathing was steady. It was almost as if she’d become an essential heartbeat. The detective and the doctor held each other tightly, clinging to the only thing they were both certain of, that they would fight. 

When the pale light of dawn filtered into their room, John gave up on sleep and went, still fully dressed, to the kitchen. Sherlock followed him and heated tea with quiet efficiency. He set a mug in Front of john and rubbed his shoulders, “Did she say why she’d come?” John shook his head, “I was too busy trying not to hit her to ask.” Sherlock took his own mug and sat down, “I’ll have Mycroft institute a discreet guard.” He sat in silence staring at his mug, he didn’t believe Irene would hurt her, but he was reluctant to let her get too close. John took his hand and squeezed it. They lapsed into silence sipping tea, they didn’t hear Shelby until she was at the kitchen door, dragging her poor bunny by the ear and rubbing her eyes.

The sight of her soothed their nerves, she was there and safe. For now, that’s what mattered. She stood in the doorway, all pink cheeked and bleary eyed trying to register what she was seeing. She climbed up in Sherlock’s lap and buried her face in his shirt, he smoothed her tangled hair and wrapped her into a hug, “Good morning, Shelby.” She kissed his cheek and set Dinah upright in her lap, “Did you solve the case?” Sherlock brushed the tips of his fingers against Dinah’s care worn ears, “I did. It was the pool boy, just like you said, Clever girl.” He squeezed her tight and Shelby beamed from ear to ear, Sherlock didn’t praise her often, but when he did, he was very impressed. John smirked, he’d only taken the case because he’d wanted to see if she was right about the man who’d come to their flat. She said she didn’t like the look of the man in the picture they were shown. He looked like a bad guy, she’d said.

She let Sherlock cuddle her for a while longer before she wiggled down off his lap and padded into the living room. She froze, looking for all the world like a startled rabbit. Sherlock winced and John watched as Dinah fell onto the floor and she turned, slowly this hurt confused look in his eyes that John couldn’t immediately understand but when she spoke he felt his heart drop to his feet, “When was mummy here?” Sherlock swore under his breath and half stood ready to grab her if she started crying, but she didn’t. She just stood there with that hurt bewilderment on her face and Sherlock went over to her. He didn’t reach out and touch her, but he knelt down to be able to look at her properly, “She came last night when you were sleeping. Do you want to see her?” Shelby looked down at her feet and Sherlock brushed her cheekbone and kissed her head, “You won’t hurt my feelings if you say yes. You won’t hurt John’s either. We know you love her.” Shelby went on staring at her bare feet, “I don’t know.” she whispered finally.

“Don’t know what, Shelby?” Sherlock asked. She reached for Dinah and John wanted to wrap her up in a blanket and cuddle her, she was upset. She hugged her retrieved companion and whispered, “I don’t know if I want to see her.” Sherlock nodded and stood up, “We won’t force you. We won’t let her force you either.” She looked up at him, with an expression on her face John couldn’t read and Sherlock picked her up carefully and carried her back to the table with him. She snuggled against his neck and wrapped her arms around him. Dinah fell to the floor, forgotten, along with her previous errand.


	9. Conflict Resolution

Waiting for the eventual conflict was the worst part. Everyone was on alert. Even Mrs. Hudson had a hard time staying her normal cheerful self and started popping in to visit more often. Shelby wasn’t her normal self either. She was quieter, withdrawn, and more snuggly than normal. John and Sherlock both worried about her, in a week she went from pink cheeked and curious back to being pale and fragile looking. Mycroft had installed a discreet guard, that followed at a safe distance whenever she went too and from school or on an outing. He also had people searching for Irene. If Sherlock knew where she was, he wouldn’t say and John didn’t ask. It was heart wrenching, but this was a dispute between parents. Even if he loved their child dearly, they needed to sort it out… However that was possible.  
The day everything blew up started out just like normal. Sherlock was bored. John was at the clinic. Shelby was at school. John was so busy he almost managed to forget the danger on the horizon, that is until his mobile rang. He looked at the number and sighed, it was the school. Hopefully, he thought, it’s not another sprain. He picked it up, “John Watson, speaking.” The secretary on the other side took a deep shaky breath, “Dr. Watson we have an emergency.” 

The hair on the back of John’s neck stood up and he waited for her to continue, “Shelby’s just… gone. We…we… called her father but… her teacher said we’d better call you both.” Every muscle in John’s body went tense, he didn’t even say good-bye, just, “Be right there.” And hung up. He didn’t say two words to anybody, he ran out the door and as he got in the cab, he got the text.

They took her.-SH

John looked down at the message and relaxed his grip on the phone before he broke it.

I know. I’m on the way-JW

John got no reply but didn’t expect one, Sherlock would have one thing he’d think about and he wouldn’t stop until she was back in Baker Street where she belonged. The cab ride took forever, it seemed like. 3 hours. They had 3 hours, less since it had probably taken some time to notice she was gone. She tended to let herself fade into the background. John knew it was a defense mechanism, but he really wished she’d inherited some of her father’s arrogance to go along with the blue eyes and intelligence. The cab had barely stopped when he jumped out and gave money to the driver. He didn’t know how much he didn’t look. Later, he’d remember vaguely wondering if it was enough. But as he dashed through the doors and past the security check point into the office, he didn’t really care.

Sherlock was mid interrogation. He looked livid and it was terrifying. John stopped just short of standing close enough to touch him and listened. The guards had be knocked out and Shelby had apparently been snatched off the playground. When they sent someone out to check and see if she hadn’t heard the bell, or had fallen asleep, they found her book, it was Dealing with Dragons. Her teacher held the book out to Sherlock and he took it with surprising gentleness, inspecting it carefully, “They ripped it out of her hands.” He said. “The covers practically been torn off.” He slipped the book into his jacket pocket, “Whoever took her knew the best way to isolate her, knew the best way to keep her from fighting back.” John did reach out and take his hand then Sherlock didn’t seem to register it, “They took away her armor. The words she uses to insulate herself from the world.”

Sherlock swept out of the room, and Shelby’s teacher stood there, in shock. John took a moment to touch her arm on his way out. Ms. Landen adored her and it was devastating for her to have just disappeared. John followed Sherlock out the door and to the playground. The tension was so thick he felt like he was going to choke on it.

They were both thinking the same thing, “The clock is ticking.” Sherlock’s mind was racing. He barely registered John’s presence beside him. He needed the security footage. There were cameras all over the school, one of them had to pick up something. He paused at the door and looked across the empty playground. Where was she sitting? How far away had she been? It had to be far enough removed that she could be alone without being isolated… So many places, she was small, she could curl up anywhere… but suddenly, there it was. There was an oak tree at the edge of the playground. Too high to climb and so not of any interest to anyone else, but to a little girl in love with fairy tales, the crack in the tree would look just like an entrance to a dragon’s lair. He went to the tree and looked at the ground. Footprints.

Size 9 and size 11, one with weak arches and the other with bunions. Hired thugs, not military. He seethed, two of them for one small girl. She struggled, she scratched and bit, there were marks on the tree bark. He hoped she drew blood. He looked around, for no one to have heard her scream there had to have been something over her mouth. He stood up and looked at John, “I need the footage.” John nodded, “We’ll find her.” Sherlock didn’t respond. He turned around and walked back into the school, coat billowing behind him like a cloud of dust. John followed after trying to keep calm. Panicking wouldn’t bring her back.

Back at Baker Street, the flat was eerily quiet. No sounds could be heard but John putting out calls to their network of contacts and Sherlock running through security footage. Time was racing but crawling by. Mycroft had been called. Lestrade had half of Scotland Yard looking, but even with all that, 3 hours came and went. There was nothing. Not even a strand of hair.  
It was horrifying. John and Sherlock knew firsthand the horrible things human beings were capable of and the fact that their Daughter, was with those people was enough to drive them mad. They searched for days. 4 days. 

Nothing. Not a thing for 4 days. Sherlock slept only when his body was too exhausted to keep up with his mind clinging to John’s restless form like a life line. They snapped at each other and apologized. They drank too much coffee and ate too little. 4 days of nothing.  
And then, like the sun breaking through the clouds, the call came. Someone had seen her. It had to be her. Tiny girl, brown hair, blue eyes, walked with a limp. They even heard the faint clicking sound her braces made. They raced through the city. Sherlock had it. If they were taking her on a walk they wouldn’t take her far for fear of being seen. There were only so many placed you could keep a child you didn’t want to kill. She was small and physically impaired. Even without a mental problem, she couldn’t run away, she couldn’t climb. It had to be a warehouse. Alien enough to scare her but not so alien they’d have to sedate her to keep her quiet.

The closer they got, the more of the hopeless exhaustion melted away. John could practically hear the gears grinding in Sherlock’s head. The detective looked positively feral. His hair was a mess and his eyes were feverous, almost wolf like in their intensity. John planned in his head, get her out, get her out of the way, and then never let her out of their sight ever again. The flat was too empty without her.  
They pulled up a block from the warehouse and snuck in through a side entrance. The place was awful, damp and dark. Only a little murky light leaked in through the grimy windows. Old conveyor belts and rusty metal were everywhere. They crept through the warehouse silently, The “guards” such as they were woefully inept, passing within a hair’s breadth of them several times. It became abundantly clear that they hadn’t planned it on their own. The guards were grumbling about being paid. About their employer. About being tired of games. “Let’s dump the cripple in the river. No one’s coming for her.” was the consensus. John felt Sherlock bristle and squeezed his hand. Just keep looking.

It took ages. The labyrinth of rusted metal grew more and more twisted. They never would have found her if John hadn’t banged into an old crate, “Fuck.” He hissed. There was a shuffle and Sherlock froze. Someone had heard. He turned to grab John and run, but the next sound, “John?” it was a wimper, it was soft and terrified sounding but it was most wonderful thing either of them had ever heard. Sherlock took a step in the direction of the sound, “Shelby. Say something.” There was a shuffle and a thud, “Dad?” another shuffle and a thud. It sounded like a door being hit. Sherlock climbed over the rusted steel and old boxes and John stayed where he was, wary of being caught. He heard rather than saw the reunion. He heard Sherlock tell her to cover her head, he heard the shuffle, the deafening crack of the door, and the strangled cry. He’d scooped up his daughter and pressed her face into his shoulder and was murmuring reassurance into her tangled curls. The next thing he heard, were guards, “Fuck” he hissed. Sherlock looked up and looked at John and then at their daughter, her eyes were wide and her little arms were wrapped around Sherlock’s neck. He set her down carefully and hastily whispered instructions as he wrapped his coat around her, “cover your ears, close your eyes and bury your face in this.” He didn’t wait to see if she’d done it before scrambling back over to John. The guard came from everywhere it seemed like. 6 of them, for one 5 year old. And in the middle, wearing a white dress and blood red lipstick, her mother, arrived in the nick of time. 

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed, “Six of them, really Irene. She’s 5. Is any judge really going to believe these six idiots were necessary to detain a physically impaired child?” Irene shrugged, “I started with 2. She’s quite the little escape artist.” Irene looked bored and Sherlock looked livid, “They could have killed her.” Irene sighed, “You’re being a bit dramatic, aren’t you, she’s fine.” Sherlock seethed and John felt the weight of the pistol in his hand, he could shoot her. But then… He took an unconscious step backwards, towards his princess and Irene smiled acidly, “If you two are done playing house, I’ll just take her with me.”

Sherlock took a step forward, “You won’t.” Irene took a step forward, “Won’t I?” Sherlock straightened his spine and his cuffs, “No, you won’t. She’s a child, not a pawn. Whatever machinations you have, you’ll deal with them alone.” Irene smiled wider, “I’ll be back, Sherlock.” She turned on her heel and started to stride out of the room, the guards at here heel without once looking at her daughter. 

That tore it. Before John even knew what he was doing, he ran after her, turned her around roughly, and slapped her across the face, hard and grabbed the front of her dress, “Don’t come near her again. Or I will kill you.” Irene’s eyes went wide. All her years of “making her way in the world” and “misbehaving” by telling men what to do and not one had ever managed to scare her the way John did just then. It wasn’t a threat, it was a promise. She had hurt one of his, and he had hurt her back. The score, such as it was, was even. Irene nodded and John let her go. She stalked out with her hired guns, her pride burning more than her face.

He turned back to his partner, but Sherlock was already gone, scrambling back over to their daughter and easing her out of the ball she was in on the floor. John made sure the safety was on and tucked his pistol back into his waistband before going to help Sherlock.  
Sherlock handed her over the metal and John took her, gently for fear of broken bones, but the way she clung on to him quickly erased his fear of that. Once he had her in better light he looked at her carefully. She looked tired, and filthy, and very shaken, but he wagered that a hot bath, a long sleep, and some time would set it all to rights. He cradled her little face in his hands and smothered her cheeks with kisses, making her giggle and push him away. Sherlock, knelt down with John, “Why were you in the closet?” She sighed, “I kept trying to run away. They put my in the closet but I used a pin, like daddy taught me to get out and ran again. So the blocked the door.” Sherlock laughed and hugged her hard, burying his face in the hair, “Clever girl.” He and John stood up and took her hand on either side, “Why’d you run, sweetheart?” She stpeed and stomped her little foot, “Rapunzel did it.” John just chuckled and shook his head, “Bloody geniuses.”


	10. Chapter 10

She was too tired to walk, so John carried her home wrapped in Sherlock’s coat. In the cab he snuggled against Sherlock while Shelby snuggled against him. It felt like everything was right again. Back in the flat, the reluctantly surrendered her to Mrs. Hudson who whisked her away to get her cleaned up and into some clean clothes. They sank into the couch, desperately exhausted but happy. She was theirs again. It took some time and they could hear a little bit of grousing when it came to untangling her hair, but it was just tiredness, they knew. Ordinarily she’d sit perfectly still and only squirm at the particularly hard snarls close to her scalp. By the time Mrs. Hudson had finished with her, John had collapsed into sleep on the couch.

Sherlock said a quiet thank you to his landlady and took his child, still warm from her bath and rubbing her eyes. Mrs. Hudson patted his arm and tottered off to take her evening soother and Sherlock headed up the stairs, “Shall we read a story?” she nodded sleepily and laid her head on his shoulder, “What story, love?” She yawned, “You pick, dad.” He kissed her head and opened her door, “I think we’ll read some Squire’s Tales. I want to see what trouble they get into next.” She was already half asleep but nodded, “ ‘Kay” He smiled to himself and laid her on the bed, tucking her in and tucking her care worn bunny under her arm before situating himself next to her. She snuggled close to him and Sherlock picked up the book and began to read. It didn’t take long, not even a minute before her breath had the rattle of sleep in it but Sherlock kept reading. He hoped that the noble deeds and honorable people would keep the nightmares at bay. He read half the book before he finally had to close his eyes for a second. And before he could open them again, sleep closed over him like calm water.

That’s how John found them the next morning, Her head on his chest, the detective’s feet hanging off the end of the bed and her book on his stomach. Asleep, they looked very much alike, same cheekbones, same pale skin, delicate hands, and messy hair. He smiled and shut the door behind him again before going to curl up in his own bed. He could never deny her, that much was certain, he thought just as he drifted back to sleep. 

He woke to the sound of Sherlock’s violin. He yawned and stretched rolling over to look at the clock, it was a little after noon. He got up and loped into the living room, stopping at the doorway and listening. Shelby was in her room playing or reading, he couldn’t tell. Often times she’d read to her stuffed toys and act out parts of the story, so it amounted to the same thing. He smiled, everything felt right. He turned to the kitchen, and fetched himself a cup of coffee before sinking into his favorite chair. Sherlock was coaxing music from his instrument gently, it was a song John had never heard him play “Composing?” he asked. Sherlock looked up, “Yes, sleep well?” John smiled, “Best sleep I’ve had in a long time. Didn’t your feet get cold hanging off the end of her bed?” Sherlock shook his head, ‘I was afraid she’d have nightmares. I didn’t think your nerves could take her screaming bloody murder in the middle of the night.” Sherlock looked away and John sipped his coffee, “Why did Irene take her?” The Detective laid down his violin and sank to the floor, crosslegged, adopting the same posture Shelby used when she was thinking, “She was setting us up John. She was going to take her, hide her away and then get her back before we did. All so she could take us to court and say we were irresponsible, and she was a better parent. It would work too, they wouldn’t let Shelby testify, not with her impairment and her age, and with her imagination, they’d take anything she told them and throw it out.” He sighed and rubbed his face and John crossed the room to sit next to him. There was nothing to say really, not now. Every possible outcome had already occurred to the detective.

John and Sherlock sat on the floor for a while, both absorbed in their thoughts but when they heard her footsteps and the distinct pattern of a halt, a squeak, and a shuffle they looked at each other and smiled. She was getting better about catching herself. John stretched and thought about getting up, but he only had just enough time to brace himself and catch his daughter as she flung her little arms around his neck, giggling. He hugged her tightly and situated her on his lap, “Good morning, Sweetheart. Did you sleep well?” She nodded and laid her head on his arm, she still looked a little sleepy, but he supposed it was better for her to be up and about than making her stay in bed. Sherlock got up and fetched John’s coffee mug before sitting down closer to John. Shelby would be content to sit that way for as long as John would let her, Sherlock knew. She was more snuggly than he’d been as a child, though, he supposed, having people who wanted to hug you made a difference. He leaned over and kissed her head and John smiled. Shelby yawned and looked at her parents, “Do I go back to school tomorrow?” Sherlock smiled a little, “Tomorrow is Sunday, dearest.” She nodded and John brushed bangs out of her face, “I thought we might go to the zoo tomorrow.” She smiled, “Can we?” John and Sherlock looked at each other and looked down at her, “I think we can manage.” Sherlock said and hugged them both. He quietly resolved to never lose either of them again.


	11. Chapter 11

It took weeks for life to settle into a familiar rhythm again. When Shelby’s birthday rolled around, John and Mrs. Hudson put obscene amounts of effort into planning a party. There was cake, and presents, and there was no pink anywhere. Even Sherlock agreed that a certain amount of fussing was in order. “I thought you didn’t believe in sentiment.” John said the night before as they got ready for bed. Sherlock shrugged and turned the page in his book, “I want her to have an actual childhood.” John crossed the room and took the book gently out of Sherlock’s hands, “It’s not your fault, you know.” Sherlock looked up at him and smiled ruefully, “It is though, if I hadn’t had sex with Irene, she wouldn’t be here.” John tugged an errant curl gently and sighed “That’s not what I meant and you know it.” Sherlock shook his head and clicked out the light, “It doesn’t matter. Goodnight, John.” John snuggled into his arms and grumbled, “You’re an idiot.”

The morning of the party dawned gloomy and raining. Outside it might have been gloomy, but inside, Baker Street smelled like cake and was covered in decorations. It was bright and rang with laughter and violin music. Shelby was thrilled; all of her favorite people were in one place where she could be sure they were all happy. Books were the most frequent presents, it really didn’t matter what they were about, John had assured them she would read them and happily repeat their contents once she’d stored away the most “useful” bits of information. Mrs. Hudson bought her a new stuffed toy as a companion to her bunny, and Sherlock and John bought her a couple new games for her handheld, learning oriented games that would keep her mind occupied with more than high scores and collecting coins.

John stood back and watched the proceedings; she was sitting on the couch with Molly looking at a new book about dragons practically dancing in her seat. Molly clearly had no idea why dragons were so exciting, but she was patiently being chattered at and asking questions about the pictures. Lestrade caught his eye and walked over, “Tired yet?” John chuckled, “Exhausted. It’s been a long week.” The other man just smiled, “Worth it though, apparently. God I’ve never seen a kid get so excited about new books.” John nodded, “It makes shopping for her easy though.” The Detective Inspector watched for a moment, “So how does Sherlock handle all this? I mean, when he’s not teaching her how to be smarter than everyone.” John smiled slightly, “He does better than I would have though. They’re kindred spirits, those two… He does, occasionally get impatient with her but… She can be trying. She wouldn’t be Sherlock’s if she weren’t” Lestrade shook his head, “I don’t believe it.” John laughed out loud, “You’ve never seen her temper make an appearance.” John rubbed the back of his neck and continued, “She gets frustrated when she can’t do things, like pick things up or properly explain what she’s trying to say because her brain won’t slow down long enough for her to make sense of what she’s thinking. It’s like her senses get over loaded.” Lestrade nodded, “What happens when she can’t make it work?” John shrugged, “She shuts down, she’ll cry, yell about things and then when it’s worked out of her system, she’s exhausted.” He sighed, “We’ve only seen it happen a couple times, after that first therapy fiasco and a few days after we found her again. It’s like… Well that first time it was terrifying.” Lestrade smiled, “I can imagine, sweet looking little thing like that… Well, sweet unless you’re Anderson.” John tried not to smile and failed, “We did make her apologize for tying his shoelaces to the desk.” Lestrade smiled back, “I still want her to do it again so I can film it.” Sherlock swooped down and rescued Molly, who had run out of questions, by distracting Shelby with helping Mrs. Hudson clear away plates and came to stand next to John, “Gossiping again?” John winced, “We are not gossiping.” Sherlock just smiled and kissed him soundly, “Sure, you’re not.”

After the guests had left and the party things had been cleared away, John was tucking Shelby into bed while Sherlock played his violin downstairs. He tucked her in and kissed her goodnight before bending to kiss the offered stuffed animals; the ever present Dinah and Mrs. Hudson’s gift, a stuffed dog who had been dubbed Wishbone. He smoothed hair out of her face and placed the storybook on the night table, “Did you have a good day, darling?” She nodded and yawned, “Yes. Thank you for my party.” He tapped her end of her nose, “You’re welcome princess. Get a good night’s sleep, you have therapy tomorrow.”

She crinkled her nose, “Do I have to go?” John smiled sadly, “I’m afraid so. I’m sorry, love.” He could hear the little gears grinding and waited patiently, “John, why don’t you stay?” He touched her cheek gently, “Stay when, Shelby?” She sighed annoyed, at her self or at him John couldn’t tell, “When I go with Dr. Mark.” John’s heart twisted a little, “I’m afraid I’d be in the way.” Shelby looked down, she knew he was lying and John knew that she knew “Oh.” John nudged her chin to get her to look at him, “Do you want me to stay?” She looked up at him, wide eyed and shook her head, “Not if you’re afraid!” John nodded and kissed her head, “I wish I was as brave as you are.” She huffed at him, annoyed at him this time, “You are brave. You’re a doctor. And you help dad.” John just smiled and tucked the blankets around her more firmly, “I love you, princess.” She yawned and cuddled her toys, “I love you too, John.” He sat there a moment longer as she closed her eyes, and he brushed his fingertips over her hair before he stood up, turned out the light and went down stairs.


	12. Chapter 12

Therapy, School, Cases, Clinic, Repeat.

John had bad days at the clinic and even if he never said it, Shelby knew. He sank into his chair and heard a quiet voice at his elbow, “Do you want tea?” He nodded sometimes, other times he just smiled and pulled her into his lap for a while. She smelled like apple shampoo and detergent and pencil shavings. It was the best thing after the constant antiseptic smell at the clinic. 

Sherlock had bad days and took Shelby on walks. They talked, he taught. He had a problem and focused on the things he could fix. He played violin, composing little things, teaching Shelby sight reading even if she couldn't make her hands coordinate to play. He sulked but less destructively. Scaring Shelby into tears once was enough. She avoided him for a week and John threatened to call Mycroft. Once was enough.

Shelby had bad days and she hid from them. She’d run up to her room, shut the door, and hide under the covers. She hated crying in front of people. John and Sherlock tried not to notice when she came downstairs red eyed and trembling but… John couldn't help but fuss and Sherlock couldn't help but be… Sherlock. He interrogated and fumed. Shelby ran away and shut down. 

School was hellish and John finally understood what it must have been like for Sherlock as he watched his daughter trying to make friends, trying to hide the fact that she was gifted, trying to protect herself from people who didn’t understand that her world wasn’t black and white but shades of gray with patches of near blinding colors. Social interaction was stressful if there were new people. She remembered EVERYTHING a person said to her with near perfect accuracy. Lestrade affectionately called her a tape recorder. But that gift had a price. The stress left her tiny body highly susceptible to coughs, colds, sore throats and ear aches. 

The first cold started with a sneeze and a sniffle and became an infection with a fever by lunch time. John got the call and made his way to the school. She was in the nurse’s office miserable, “John, can I go home?” He bent to kiss her head, “Yes sweetheart, in just a moment.” He checked her vital quickly and the nurse just stood back and smiled. This wasn’t the first time Doctor John Watson had come to collect his boyfriends child, and she much preferred his anxiety to that of Sherlock’s. “What was her temperature?” How long ago did it start?” Is her breathing troubled? “And “Where is her backpack” were much preferable to “What did you do to her?” John helped her into her coat and scooped her up carefully. She wrapped her tiny arms around his neck and snuggled into him, shivering slightly. He kissed her head and held her tighter shifting her weight to one side so he could sign the paper the secretary put on the counter. He smiled his thanks at the women and headed towards the door. 

The cold air hit Shelby and she shivered violently. John kissed her forehead and she whimpered, “I know sweetheart, I know” He said softly. She was miserable and he was worried. Her throat was swollen and her lungs were rattling, her fever wasn’t terribly high only just past the point of being a fever, but her body temperature was lower than average, so he knew it felt higher. It was a short walk but John hailed a cab anyway. He’d have Sarah write out the prescription and run to fetch it after he got her settled, right now he just wanted to tuck her into bed and get the chills to stop. They scared her. In the cab he held her on his lap and played with her hair. She was too cold to sleep but she did close her eyes, “It’s just a cold, John.” He smiled and kissed her head, “I don’t think so, love. Not anymore.” She stifled a sneeze and looked up at him, “Why not?” He touched her pale cheek and smiled a little, “Because you, Sweetheart are a magnet for sinus infections.” She looked at him confused and he smiled, “We have your medical records, I read them when you came to live with us” She nodded and snuggled into him again, “I’m sleepy.” The cab pulled up in front of the flat and John smiled, “We’ll get you inside and you can rest.” He helped her out of the cab, paid the driver and lead her inside.

Once inside he helped her into some clean pajamas and tucked her into bed with extra blankets and tissues and a movie playing on the laptop. Once he had her settled and properly diagnosed, he called Sarah for a prescription and asked Mrs. Hudson to look after her for an hour or so until he got back or Sherlock did. She waved him out the door and John smiled. Shelby was in very capable hands, Mrs. Hudson would fuss over her and coax her into eating something.   
He took his time running the errands he had to run, picking up her prescription and making a run to the shop. Comfort food was in order today. He’d make something that went with mashed potatoes. For whatever reason, they were the only thing she wanted when she wasn’t feeling well. He wandered a bit, picking up this and that, some juice, things to make supper, some milk, a couple boxes of macaroni…basics. 

On the way home he texted Sherlock

Shelby is at home. It’s a sinus infection.-JW

He got back to the flat before her got a reply,

If I haven’t solved the case yet, I’ll come home to tuck her in.-SH

John smiled a little and put the phone back in his pocket. Whatever the detective thought about sentiment clearly didn’t apply to his daughter. He put the groceries away and headed upstairs with the medicine. Mrs. Hudson was sitting on her bed taking a temperature, she looked worried, “John, it’s gone up again.” He nodded and laid his hand on Shelby’s forehead, her skin was burning. He patted Mrs. Hudsons shoulder, “It’ll be fine.” She looked from the child in the bed to John and nodded slowly as she got up to leave the room. Shelby sat up a little and looked towards the door, “Thanks, Mrs. Hudson.” The landlady turned around and smiled, “You’re welcome dear. I’ll bring you more juice.” She left and John helped Shelby sit up more comfortably so she could swallow without choking. He tucked the blanket in around her firmly and set the medicine on the table. John and Shelby sat in silence, John watched her carefully. 

She looked so tired and her big blue eyes were glassy with fever. He patted her hand and she smiled a little, “Don’t worry, John. I’m tough, ‘member?” He smiled and raised her little hand to his lips, god she’s so tiny, he thought. The lapsed back into silence and Mrs. Hudson returned with another cup of juice. John took it and smiled his thanks, as he set it on the table and poured medicine onto a spoon. Shelby pulled a face, “I don’t like this one.” John just patted her hand, “Open up, sweetheart.” She complied, he could tell she was struggling to swallow and he held out the juice, “Here, take a sip of this now.” She nodded and took the cup, sipping the juice and wincing, “Ow.” He kissed her head and held out the children’s aspirin, “This too, it’ll break up the fever… They’re chewable.” She took them and to John’s surprise, just swallowed them. “She shook her head, “I don’t like the flavors. Watermelon don’t taste like that. Cherry don’t either.” John held out the juice again for her to take a sip. She took a drink, swallowed and immediately started coughing. He took the cup and patted her on the back, “Are you alright?” She nodded and took a deep breath as the coughing subsided. He kissed her head, “Juice go down the wrong way?” She nodded again and flopped over on the bed. He smiled, “Very good idea, get some rest. Then we’ll have something to eat.” He tucked her in and kissed her face until she giggled. “Thank you, John.” She snuggled under the blankets and closed her eyes. John paused at the door and smiled at her fondly.

Down stairs he messed about in the kitchen, updated his blog, watched some telly, and started cooking some chicken for chicken and noodles. When he checked on Shelby, he took her temperature and gave her more to drink. She wasn’t hard to care for even when she was miserable. A little more snuggly than normal and a little less excitable, but content so long as she was warm and comfortable. John wondered which parent she’d inherited that from. Certainly not Sherlock. He was a fiend when he was sick because it didn’t happen often. At a certain point, Shelby came down stairs and snuggled up in John’s lap. Her fever had gone and she was feeling a little better, but not quite well enough to go to school the next day. He was getting a little warm, but he hated asking her to move. She was asleep again, or close to it. He sighed, he needed to check on supper. He got up slowly and laid her gently on the couch. She’d be fine.

He finished supper and coaxed her into eating. Of course, there wasn’t much coaxing to be done as soon as he mentioned mashed potatoes. She ate and he put a movie in and they snuggled on the sofa. She dozed and he watched the movie absently. As far as kids movies went, this one wasn’t too bad. There was no singing at least. And the thinly veiled social commentary was entertaining if, outdated. He could feel himself dozing off just as Sherlock can through the door. The consulting detective looked down at the bodies on the couch and smiled a bit. John looked up drowsily and rubbed Shelby’s back, “She’s been asking for you.” Sherlock reached down to touch her hair and turned to take his coat off, “I can’t stay long. I just wanted to say goodnight.” John nodded and Sherlock lifted his daughter up gently. She opened her eyes, “Did you solve the case, daddy?” The detective turned to take her to her room, “Not yet, I’m getting close though.” She sneezed, “Can I help?” John heard the door open and Sherlock’s reply was rendered indistinct. John stretched and went to the kitchen to tidy up.

Upstairs, Sherlock tucked his daughter into bed and pressed his hand to her face, her fever was rising again. He gave her more children’s aspirin and juice and picked up the fairytale book on her nightstand, “How about a story?” Shelby yawned, “You don’t like that book.” Sherlock rifled through the pages, “I’ll live… Once upon a time there was a merchant who lived with his three daughters…” She dozed off before Beauty even offered to take her father’s place and Sherlock laid the book back on the table, shut out the light, and went back down stairs.

He wrapped his arm around John’s waist, “I gave her more aspirin, her fever was coming back.” John nodded and kissed his cheek, “I’ll keep her home tomorrow. A day of rest and antibiotics and she’ll be back on her feet.” Sherlock gave John a squeeze, “I have to go back. I’ll take over tomorrow.” He swooped down and kissed his blogger and swept out the door with his coat.

The rest of the night passed without incident and the next day Sherlock stayed home while John went to the clinic. Shelby was getting better, her immune system knew the process. Antibotics, rest, and mashed potatoes. John came home at lunch to Sherlock and Shelby playing a game on the living room floor. Shelby was wrapped in a blanket and trying not to giggle at Sherlock’s explaination why he was right. John smiled, they were playing Cluedo. “Dad, the victim didn’t do it. They can’t do it. It was Mrs. White. She did it on accident because she was cleaning a candlestick, it fell on the floor and the Professor slipped on it and smacked his head.” Sherlock had stopped ranting at her and looked amazed, “An accident?” She nodded, “How else would he be the victim AND have a hand in his own death. And you told me that no one could beat themselves to death ‘cause of self p-p-preservation.” He nodded, “Want to play again?” She smiled and started to set up the board. John cleared his throat and both of them whipped around. Their faces relaxed into similar smiles, all cheekbones and bright blue eyes. Shelby clamored to her feet and launched herself into John’s arms. He caught her and kissed her face. She was cool if still a bit pale. Back to school tomorrow, he thought. He took his plate and settled himself on the floor with them.

The hour went by too quickly for John, he loved listening to the two of the trying to solve those stupid fictional murders. Sherlock always looking for the most convoluted plot and Shelby using the bits of things Sherlock taught her and her own strange intuition about things. He was largely on the sidelines, but that didn’t bother him. They were playing a game. Sherlock was teaching her things in his own weird way. He didn’t use endearments or fawn over every little thing, but he loved her. He understood her, the little loops and bunny trails her mind worked in, and this was his way to show her. John watched as Sherlock won a round, and watched as they moved on to learning Chess before reluctantly going back to the clinic. John and Sherlock exchanged glances over Shelby’s head as John slipped out the door, Was it really worth it to send her back?


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the long Hiatus. Life sorta happened.

"John, I'm telling you we can't send her away!" the detective fumed. For the second time, John brought up the idea of sending their daughter to a small private school for children with special talents, "If we send her away, we can't protect her." Sherlock continued. John just sighed and nodded. He had no legal claim on the child, no legal right to a say in how she was raised or educated, but watching his clever girl come home crying or staring vacantly at her breakfast dreading another day at school was too much. "Alright, Sherlock." he said softly, "I'm going to go get her from school." Sherlock just nodded and played his violin.

John left and headed towards the school, silently cursing himself for interfering. It was just hard. Kindergarten had been one thing, it was just children they'd had to worry about but in the fall, when Shelby started first grade... Everything changed. She had a teacher that was actively punishing her for reading. John still got angry when he thought about the parent teacher conference where they'd been told that their daughter was just 'too smart' and that it wasn't fair for her to read so well and leave the other students behind her. They'd actually been told to discourage her from reading at home. They hadn't of course, that was asinine. They'd continued to let her read whatever she wanted... within reason. Nothing too adult and John always carefully reviewed the more 'grown up' books she'd bring to him from time to time before letting her read them. Magic was fine, explicitly sexual things were not. She was only 6... almost 7, there was plenty of time for those things when she grew up, for now she was a child. His child and if she wanted to read he wasn't going to stop her. Sherlock had taken it one step further and introduced her to things like Utopia and Chaucer because of course he did.

He loped into the yard to wait with the other parents, ignoring the looks. It was common knowledge that he wasn't her father. He was her father's boyfriend... it attracted attention, to say the least. He wasn't bothered, but he did wish people would watch what they said in front of their children so his daughter didn't have to hear it as well. When the school bell rang and kids streamed out the doors, John wasn't worried when he didn't see his daughter right away. Running with her braces on hurt, so she didn't do it unless she had a good reason. It took a few minutes, but the little girl made her slow limping way out the doors with her backpack. John felt his heart ache. She was miserable at school this year, the only time he ever saw her truly happy was when they were out on an adventure. Where she could learn things and do things and ask questions. She smiled when she saw John and held her arms out for a hug. He scooped her up and kissed her cheek before hugging him tightly. He didn't bother to put her down, he figured they could bother use the comfort.

It was comfortable, holding her against his chest and feeling her little head laid carefully on his shoulder. He knew she was safe there and she knew she was wanted.He patted her back, "How was school, princess?" he asked quietly. The tiny girl just shrugged and didn't say anything, John let it drop and made a mental note to talk to the school. Her teachers new way to punish her was to make her sit in the hall when she didn't finish timed math tests. She knew the answers. He knew she knew, she just couldn't write them quickly enough. He hugged her a little tighter and let them in to the flat, setting her carefully on her feet and taking off her jacket, "We'll have a snack and then some homework, yeah?" he said smiling encouragingly. She nodded and went upstairs to go change and take off her braces, avoiding looking at Sherlock as she limped up stairs.

John said nothing. Sherlock had been brooding for days and Shelby was starting to avoid him all together since she couldn't seem to say anything right. He sighed and started to fix a Shelby approved snack. One green apple cut into slices and peanut butter for dipping. Sherlock watched in silence as John set the snack and a glass of water on the table for their daughter, listening to the familiar opening and shutting of drawers. John picked up the back pack and opened it to look at the assignments for the night. He was just there to supervise really. All this work was too simple for her but they were afraid that bumping her up a grade or two would make it harder for her to make friends. "Sherlock?" John said softly, "You'll need to sign these when she's done." Sherlock snorted, but nodded, "Fine." he said.

John set the folder down carefully, "Sherlock, I don't know what you're brooding about but you need to work it out." he said, "Your daughter needs you." Sherlock's eyes narrowed but he said nothing. "I know you think she doesn't because I'm the one she runs to for snuggles, but you know what it's like to be brilliant and deal with people who don't understand." He sighed, "I need you." he said. "I need you to go to bat for her because they won't listen to me. Her teacher is a bloody awful woman but they won't move without your say so." He stood and went to kneel next to Sherlock's chair, "They're going to kill her spark, Sherlock." he murmured, "Make her fit in like everyone else... Then where will we be." He felt tears sting the backs of his eyes and tried to blink them away but they wouldn't go. They spilled down his cheeks anyway. The thought of them taking his little girl and choking the spark out of her made his chest feel tight and his heart drop into his stomach.

Sherlock turned when he heard the catch in John's voice and started when he saw the tears running down his cheeks. He kissed the man softly and wiped his tears away, "John," he started quietly, kissing him again, "Will you marry me?"

John looked up at him in confusion and pulled back a little, "What?" he asked, trying not to sound incredulous. "I asked you to marry me, idiot." Sherlock snorted. 

He sat there for a moment looking up at Sherlock and started laughing, "Yes. You tosser. Yes, god how could I say anything else?" he cried throwing his arms around Sherlock's neck to kiss him soundly, only pulling away when they heard their daughter giggle in the door way.

He budged over and held out and arm to help her clamor into her dad's lap, kissing her face until she giggled and then kissing her father again. Sherlock smiled and held onto them both. He was getting married... He'd have to call Mycroft about adoption papers.


	14. Blue and Grey Ties

The wedding its self was planned to be a simple thing. A short Ceremony in the park with friends and family and then a reception at the flat. Quick, painless, and no press. That was what was called for, they'd agreed. It had taken just a few weeks to put together and it was a blessedly mild spring day. Sherlock was trying to get himself dressed and was listening to the sounds of John trying to get Shelby dressed. He smiled to himself as he heard his daughter giggling at something John had said. before turning to put on his tie, on which John had insisted. It was in the colors they'd let their daughter pick for them... He'd never been more thankful that she detested typical girly things like pink. The tie was a very nice blue and gray that wasn't too flashy or too simple. He'd jokingly told John, when presented with her choice that they could stop the DNA tests because there was no way she wasn't his. John appeared in the doorway, smiling and leading Shelby by the hand.

His suit and tie were similar to Sherlock's, black jacket, shoes, and pants, and a blue and gray tie and pocket square. Sherlock smiled, "Well aren't you dashing." he teased, making the other man's ears turn red. Mission accomplished he knelt down to look at his daughter, "And you, my love." he said holding his arms out for a hug, "Are beautiful." She hugged him and buried her face in his neck. Sherlock looked up at John, "Good?" he mouthed. John nodded and smiled fondly, wondering what parenting forum he'd picked that up from. Sherlock let go of her and held her at arm's length, wondering what Mrs. Hudson had bribed her with to get her to wear the dress she'd picked. It was short and showed Shelby's braces, she hated people seeing them. People seeing them tended to mean teasing. Still, it was a pretty dress, soft blue that matched her eyes with a gray sash and little black mary janes to go over her braces. John had even managed to do her hair, pulling back the sides and tying then with a bit of ribbon, leaving the rest to fall down her back... Just enough to keep the riotous curls out of her face.

Sherlock smiled and kissed her forehead, "Well, if we're all done primping." he said taking John's arm, "I believe we've got a wedding to attend." John scoffed, "Us primping?" he teased, "We've been done for ages and waiting on you! Isn't that right princess?" he said nudging Shelby and winking. "Yeah dad!" she said sticking her tongue out at the taller man and giggling. Sherlock sighed, "I see how it'll be, you lot ganging up on me." he said smiling a little so Shelby wouldn't think she'd hurt his feelings. He scooped her up and kissed her cheek, "I suppose I can live with that." John smiled and pulled Sherlock down to kiss him softly, "I should hope so." he said fondly, "It's a bit late to call it off now." Sherlock only smiled and let John lead them out to the waiting cab.

John got him self settled, Sherlock settled Shelby next to John, and then the detective slid in after. John smiled at Sherlock over the top of their daughter's head and took her little hand. It was reassuringly warm. He'd never told Sherlock but he'd gotten a little superstitious about her anxiety. Whenever she was anxious she'd always had a very good reason to be. He gave her hand a squeeze and she beamed up at him. John beamed back and kissed her nose, "I love you, princess." he said smoothing back an errant curl. "I love you too, papa." John's heart gave a little skip and even Sherlock started a bit. It was the first time she'd ever called him anything other than, "John". When she looked away, face turning scarlet, John realized he must have been looking at her strangely. "I'm sorry." she murmured, staring resolutely at her shoes.

Sherlock tilted her chin up to look at him gently, not forcing the eye contact when she jerked her chin away like his parents had always done to him. "Why 'Papa'?" he asked softly. The girl took a deep breath and bit her lip, John squeezed her hand encouragingly and they let her be silent for a second to chose her words. "Well," she started finally, hesitating, "I call you 'Dad' or "Daddy' sometimes... And mummy isn't coming back. And John does a better Job than her anyway." She chanced glancing up at John but looked back down, "And Belle calls her dad 'Papa." and I can't just call him John when you do the 'doption and then if he's my papa the kids at school can't say mean things anymore because it'll be like everyone else's dad just a different name... And then the mum's at school can't say mean things to John either."

The two men sat in stunned silence for a second just staring that the little girl in the blue dress. John felt absurdly honored by the fact that she wanted to have something to call him, that she wanted to protect him. He also found it touching that she used her favorite story to do it. It was all so very... Shelby.  He found himself having to wipe away a tear and even Sherlock looked suspiciously bright eyed. "Can you look at me princess?" he asked gently, stroking her curls. It took a moment and a deep breath but she did look up at him uncertainly, "Did I do it wrong?" she asked quietly. John just Shook his head and pulled her against his side, kissing her nose again, "No, love." he said smiling a little, "I like that name." She smiled back and spent the rest of the cab ride tucked securely against John's side.

                                                                     ----------------------------------------------------------------

At the park a few minutes later they had their small assemblage waiting on them. Greg shook their hands and scooped their daughter up for a hug and to threaten to put bricks on her head if she didn't stop growing. She gave him a look and he chuckled before setting her down carefully. There were hugs for them all from Molly, hand shakes from Mycroft... Though he did take a hug from his niece. He'd never admit it, but the fact that she wasn't afraid of him made him feel... better.

Once there had been hellos and everyone was settled in for the ceremony, Shelby right in front, watching, beaming at them both and making faces at John who almost forgot to say 'I do' in the excitement. She giggled when the officiant cleared her throat and John snapped to attention, making Sherlock chuckle. "You're both ridiculous." he rumbled fondly. "Shut up." He said before turning redder, "I do." he added hastily. The Officiant smiled and said her bit about  them being joined in marriage and Without waiting for her to finish, Sherlock grabbed John and kissed him. Hard. There were cheers and when they finally pulled apart for breath, Greg nudged Shelby off her chair and she ran to them both. Sherlock caught her, and cuddled her for a moment before turning so John could help him hold her. The both grinned at each other before kissing her on either cheek, making her giggle and cover her face with her hands. Someone with a camera on hand snapped the photo and it became one of John's favorites, sitting on his desk next to his laptop. He liked remembering the warmth of having them both near and having them that happy.

Sherlock's favorite picture was one of Just Shelby and John walking away hand in hand. They'd let her take her braces off, and John had them in his hand and in hi other he held hers. She was looking away and pointing at something excitedly, but John wasn't looking at what she pointed at, he was looking at her, love written on his face. The detective kept a copy of it in his wallet as a reminder that she'd not have to be as alone as she had been with her mother.

The rest of the day was equally simple, they went to the flat where there were sandwiches, cake, punch, and champagne. By the time everyone had left, Shelby was snuggled up in Sherlock's lap listening to him tell her about past cases with her Papa. She was yawning and rubbing her eyes and Sherlock stroked her hair, "I think it's bed time." he said kissing her forehead. She started to protest but was stopped by a rather large yawn, "Come on, princess." John said picking her up gently. She grumbled at him sleepily and laid her head on his shoulder, "One more story?" she pleaded. John chuckled and started up the stairs, "Not tonight, love." he said.

He carefully helped her dress for bed and tucked her in, kissing her stuffed animals goodnight as well before turning out the lights and heading down stairs, only to be stopped by his husband on the last step.

He was holding his tie in his hand and smiling wickedly, "What do you say we put these ties to good use?" he suggested. John blushed, and glanced back upstairs, but when Sherlock kissed him, slowly, he lost all ability to resist and followed after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry Guys. I'm not actually writing smut for you in this one. You'll just have to use your imaginations.


	15. Normal Gets you Nowhere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skipping ahead a bit

John looked up from his paper and closed his eyes praying for strength. Their daughter was turning 13 tomorrow as he wasn't sure he could handle a teenager in the house. Let alone teenage boys showing interest in her. "Sherlock, we're getting old." he groused, "She's 13... how? She was 5 yesterday." Sherlock looked up from his violin and smiled a little, "Would you honestly still want her to be 5?" he asked. John sighed, "Sometimes. I miss bedtime stories and being able to hug her and make everything better... but I don't miss therapy." Sherlock nodded and went back to his violin keeping his thoughts on the matter to himself, half listening to their daughter rattling around in her room and the music playing from her laptop... Well. She called it music.

John went back to his paper, mentally preparing his speech for the first young man who came to escort her to a dance or on a date. He also had a vague idea about writing a name on a bullet... He'd been that age once and fear was a very good motivator to keep his hands to himself.

 Boys had already been staring, and not at her legs either, she was a very pretty girl... not surprising given her parentage, but still. It'd been alarming when he realized she had curves already and Mrs. Hudson had discreetly taken her shopping for under things. He was thankful to both Mrs. Hudson and Molly really. They'd both panicked when she'd started her period and Molly saved the day. She'd looked at John and told him to make sure there was a pint of her favorite ice cream in the freezer and not to make a fuss if she got upset about something stupid.  So that's what he'd done. Let her eat ice cream and have a cry when she got upset and slipped her pain reliever for the cramps so she could be a little less uncomfortable. He also made a mental note to talk to Sherlock about birth control, not because he thought she was having sex or even thinking about it, but because he didn't know if that much pain was normal. Sherlock had shrugged, going back and replaying the day in his head, responding that they should wait at least until everything happened on a regular basis and then decide.

It had been blessedly quiet thus far, for which John was thankful. Shelby didn't argue, she debated. If they were telling her "no" she wanted to know why. "Because I said so," was never an acceptable answer. If she was being protected from someone or something dangerous, she wanted to know. Sherlock indulged her, he liked their little games of verbal chess. John thought it had been ridiculous, explaining absolutely everything to a child that way, until he saw what it did to her thinking processes. She could see every argument in advance and compose a counter argument, it made her debates incredibly fun to watch. The last debate had been about Gay couples being allowed to adopt children.

The kid she was debating had been an arrogant entitled little shit, John thought. Shelby had apparently thought so too. She'd let him paint himself into a corner and then, metaphorically of course, sank her teeth in and tore out his throat. He just stood there, bewildered and scared because he'd been sure he would win and lost spectacularly. Sherlock was the proudest parent in the entire building. His daughter couldn't run a mile without incredible difficulty, but she could _think._ Greg had been watching and looked a little frightened, "Sweet looking little thing, though." he murmured to John looking startled, "He didn't stand a chance." John just smiled, they'd take her for Chinese as a reward and next time they were out, he'd buy her a new book. Not to motivate her for doing well, really. He just liked the excitement over the new words, and the way she'd pick it up carefully and inspect it's contents before settling in to read. She'd been interested in Psychology and had started reading everything she could find about it.

Sherlock encouraged her in it... He said their investigative team could use a forensic psychologist. John had rolled his eyes at first, but he could definitely see it Sherlock getting Gray and being an eccentric old man with a skull while his daughter built stunning criminal profiles for him to argue with her about. It made him happy, even if he'd support her whatever she decided to do. Even if she went off to be a starving artist and write novels instead of being a brilliant criminologist or something as lobg as she was healthy and happy.

... They just had to get her through her teenage years. 


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger for Self Harm in this chapter.

Shelby sat at the breakfast table and stared at her bowl of cereal. She'd been up half the night crying and the other half dreading the next day, she hadn't slept and she was just praying she got out of the house before her father woke up. She didn't think she could handle being under a microscope just then. She hated school, she hated the people and the way they looked at her. It didn't matter what her Uncle did and it didn't matter how loudly her parents yelled in her defense, the bullying didn't stop.

She was a freak. She was a cripple. She was worthless. She didn't matter and no one wanted to hear her talk. She didn't want to be under a microscope and she wanted to get out without having to outright lie to them. She never lied to them unless she could do it and not get caught and this was not one of the days she thought she could. It took a lot of work to be able to lie to Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. Individually it was possible, but with both of them, looking at her expectantly and pressing gently until she gave up what they wanted to know, she didn't stand a chance. The new marks she'd carved into her skin stung and were probably still seeping blood. She'd have to go clean up before she left for school and was already planning an excuse to get away for a minute, not noticing the speculative look on John's face.

John knew she'd been crying, even if she wouldn't look at him. The back of her neck was all splotchy and her hands were trembling slightly. He bit his lip and hid it  the gesture behind his coffee cup. He wanted her to think she was hiding things, at least until he talked to Sherlock. Now was not the time to have a confrontation with his daughter, he didn't want to confront her, he wanted to help... he just didn't know how. He was going to wait until he talked to Sherlock about it, he'd only just found out about it and was still trying to understand. He knew that the pain could be cathartic, but what the hell had caused it? How could a girl that smart think that was necessary? He'd seen the blood speckled tissues and bandages in the trash bin in his daughter's room and it took him a minute before he could wake her. He just stared. The pattern was distinctive, as soon as he recognized it his heart dropped to his feet.  He just... He couldn't wrap his mind around it. He'd talk to Sherlock and they'd handle it together. He just hoped that Shelby got out of the flat before Sherlock roused himself. He knew Sherlock didn't like sending Shelby to school without saying "good-bye" and "I love you" but this morning, he hoped would be one of the rare mornings that didn't happen. The detective would be angry. Furious. But not with his daughter, with himself. This had gone on for weeks, maybe even months and he hadn't known anything. John wanted time to ease Sherlock in to it and give his husband time to take a breath and understand before he flew off the handle.

Shelby pushed her bowl away and stood, "I need to get a few things for a project." she said softly, "I'll be down in time for school." John nodded, "Alright, princess." he said, "Are you done with breakfast?" She nodded and fled up to her room and John sighed, hoping that she was at least taking proper care of her wounds to avoid scarring and infection. He started the breakfast dishes and fixed her a mug of tea to go, he favorite mug. It had one of her favorite quotes on it, "I'm reasonably certain that given a cape and tiara I could save the world." He hoped that giving her tea and biscuits to take to school would bolster her enough to get her through the day and home to them where they could help her.

"Shit." he sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, "Where'd we go wrong?" he took a deep breath and listened to the sounds coming form upstairs. The rattling around was quiet, her pretense of things for a project masking whatever she was trying to do. Shelby went through and grabbed her book and added it to her bag to make her story more convincing and cleaned the fresh marks carefully. She didn't care if the antiseptic stung, it felt better when it hurt and she deserved it anyway.

She loped back down the stairs without a second thought, left, right, left, right, and slung her bag over her shoulder. "Have a good day, papa." she said smiling, hoping he wouldn't notice how red her eyes were, "I love you." She kissed his still stubbly jaw and hugged him tightly. John kissed her head and returned the tight squeeze, "I love you too, Princess. Be safe." he murmured, "Give them all hell." She nodded and let him go. If she didn't go now she'd never make it to school and she couldn't cut class for another day, not without getting caught. Her Uncle Greg covered for her once but he wouldn't do it again. By the time she got to school she was trembling again. She was so tired she could hardly put one foot in front of the other. For the first time all year she was thankful that her first class was Choir and it took next to no thought.

It took a moment after she left for John to be able to move. He stood staring at the door, cradling his coffee mug in his hands. She'd seemed so... Normal. Quiet, but normal. It was eerie. She was trying too hard to not raise flags. He couldn't take it any more, he had to talk to his husband. He set his mug down and limped into their bedroom, perching on the edge of the bed, "Sherlock?" he murmured, rubbing his shoulder, "Sherlock, wake up. We need to talk."

The detective opened his eyes slowly and yawned, "What? What is it?" he asked groggily, "What's wrong? What happened? Is Shelby sick?" John sighed, "I think so." he said quietly. Something in his tone brought Sherlock to consciousness and he moved to sit up, "What's wrong?" he asked. "She's sick, Sherlock. She's hurting herself." he said slowly. The detective's eyes narrowed and he swung his legs over the side of the bed, "Show me." he demanded. The doctor nodded and stood up, "Just don't yell." he said, leading Sherlock up the stairs to their daughter's room.

 

 


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another trigger warning for Self harm

Sherlock followed his husband into his daughter's room. It felt like an invasion. She was a good girl and it just felt... wrong. His mind was racing as he poured over every interaction he'd had with her recently. She'd been quieter, less lively, playing things closer to the chest. He'd never imagined she was keeping an actual secret from them, he'd assumed it was just a bit of adolescent shyness, being uncomfortable in her body and just wanting a bit of space. His heart felt like lead and he swallowed hard, she'd know exactly what he'd look for and she'd done exactly what she'd need to do to hide it.

He stood at the thresh hold of her room, glancing around at the artifacts she'd accrued books, clothes. shoes, odd bric a brack, and a few old toys. Dinah, her beloved bunny still sitting on her bed waiting for her to come home.  She'd have the things she used hidden some place, tucked away where she could get to it easily but it wouldn't be easily found. He padded to the middle of the room and tried to think like she would. Was she ashamed? Was it a relief? Both? In his time abusing drugs, he'd felt that way. Ashamed, relieved, annoyed with himself for succumbing to a weakness. He sighed and looked towards her bookcase and John followed his gaze, biting his lip. 

John watched silently as Sherlock padded over to the bookshelves he and Shelby had pained when she was small and picked up a very large book. It was supposed to be the complete, collected works of the Brothers Grimm. It was old, cheap and battered. She'd bought it on a whim because she'd liked the cover. Sherlock took the book and laid it on the bed, lifting back the front cover, swallowing hard. She'd made it a book safe, cut and glued the pages to make herself a place to hide her... things. John looked over Sherlock's shoulder and bit his lip, she had sharp instruments,  peroxide, cotton gauze, and antibacterial cream all packed into the  book's hollow middle.

Neither man knew what to say to the other. Sherlock tried not to blame himself and the addictive tendencies his daughter had inherited from him and John just didn't know what to say. He knew it sounded terrible but he was at least glad that she'd been cleaning up properly. It was terrible that she did it, but to him, if she was taking the time to clean up and bandage herself, she wasn't suicidal. Sherlock picked up the box and carried it with him out of the room to go put it well out of his daughter's reach. He knew it wasn't a perfect solution, that she could make another kit, that she'd find other ways to do it, but at least, if he took this one, she'd not be able to do it for a little while. The brunette took the box and put it in their room, in his night stand. He wouldn't throw it out, not yet. He wanted to talk to her, he wanted to know why. John detoured into the living room and slumped in his chair.

He'd always known having a teenager would be hard. He'd hoped for a slew of little rebellions and a few stupid boys. He never imagined that she'd feel so awful that the only way to make it stop would be to hurt herself more. Before he'd had a daughter, he'd watched the horror stories on the news about children hurting themselves or taking their own lives because they didn't have another way to cope. He'd been sad for them, of course but there had always been this sense of, "Well where are their parents?" 

Being one of those parents now, he understood a bit. Since the day she'd been dropped on their doorstep, Shelby had been his princess. He'd loved her, and taught her, and bandaged more skinned knees than she could count. She knew she could come to them with anything. Absolutely anything and they'd love her no matter what but... 8 hours a day she wasn't with them. She wasn't in a place where none of her questions were stupid and all of her skills were valued. 8 hours a day she was just a cog in a very large machine and she had a tendency to gum up the works. He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. He remembered hearing that it took 100 compliments to erase one disparaging remark and winced.

"Don't." Sherlock said quietly, "This isn't anything you did or didn't do, don't torture yourself like that."

John looked up and sighed, "Whose fault is it then, Sherlock?" he asked, "We send her to that place everyday and have done for years... It's hell for her. An actual hell" He looked at the detective and clenched his jaw for a second, "I know it's going to be hard for her no matter where we send her... She's different and being different is hard, but I think we need to pursue something else... You don't want her sent away. I understand that, we won't... There has to be a day school for gifted kids somewhere."

Sherlock nodded, "We'll talk to her tonight, and then we'll call Mycroft... Get her a therapist and see if we can't find her someplace... safer."

 


	18. Instructions Not Included

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning for Self Harm

John and Sherlock settled in in the living room and tried to act casual, something that was incredibly difficult when neither of them knew what to expect. Sherlock had an idea, he'd been an addict. He'd been through an intervention. He'd been through rehab. He understood the nature of addiction, and even if this wasn't that, it mimicked it. She might be angry, she might cry, either way he and John both were going to want a drink and Shelby was going to be drained. John had no idea, he knew her. In some ways he knew he better than Sherlock. He just didn't know what to expect for this. He never expected this, she'd always just seemed to take things in stride. He reached over and took his husband's hand, squeezing it gently. He was terrified. Sherlock squeezed back and settled in to his chair and the impending storm. It was only going to be terrible for a little while. They both knew that, but it was just waiting for it to happen that was nerve wracking waiting.

It took Shelby what seemed like ages to get home. She wanted to go home and hide in her bed to forget about the day. She didn't want to think about being shoved around in hallways and how much her back and hips ached from hitting the floor so many times. By the time she made it to the flat and dropped her bag by the door she was almost crying. Everything hurt and she felt disoriented. She needed to cut because that made everything seem less over whelming. She didn't know why. She'd done it for so long now she couldn't remember how it started, she just knew that it made things hurt less. The girl was so distracted she walked past the sitting room and both her parents, starting up the steps. She was half way up before John could find his voice, "Shelby?" he called, "Love, could you come here? We need to talk to you." She paused on the stairs and took a deep breath to get her emotions back in check before trudging back down the stairs. Her dad hated to see her cry and her papa just didn't know what to do. She swallowed hard but didn't turn, "I know my room is a mess. I was going to clean it on Saturday." she said, "And I have homework, I was going to lie down for a little while and then do it." Sherlock winced, she sounded hollow and it stung a bit that she seemed to think she knew exactly what they needed to talk about and that it was so typical. Like they had that exact conversation every day and no more. John felt his mouth open and close and he stared at his daughter. She wasn't looking at either of them, she was staring resolutely at the banister. His stomach twisted and he tried to remember when she'd last actually looked at him. She was waiting to be dismissed and John shook himself, "No, love." he said gently, "It's not about that. Please come down here?" 

Shelby took another breath and turned to walk down the stairs and into the sitting room. She stood in the doorway and clasped her hands in front of her like she was about to be asked to recite something. Sherlock wanted to hug her, she looked exhausted and slightly feverish, like she was getting sick again. "Come here, Princess." John said softly, beckoning for her to have a seat near him. She sat where she was told and waited. She was tired, she hurt, and she just wanted to be alone. John took her hand gently and Sherlock crossed the room to kneel in front of her, "Love?" John started gently, "We need to talk about whether or not you've been hurting yourself." She tensed and took Her hand out of John's, "No." she said flatly, "No I haven't." John winced and looked at Sherlock, she's been doing it. There was no doubt and the answer came to quickly. Sherlock took both her hands in his larger one and tilted her chin up, "Shelby. Don't lie, not to me. Please, sweetheart." he said. She jerked her chin out of his hand and looked down again. "Shelby." he insisted, "Talk to me so we can help you." John held his breath as Shelby stayed silent.  Sherlock kissed her hand and just held on, "There is nothing you could ever do that would make us love you less." he said softly. The silence stretched on and Sherlock kept hold of her hands, waiting. She dissolved into tears, slowly and then all at once and Sherlock caught her when she moved to wrap around herself, tucking her head against his shoulder and holding her tightly. He didn't tell her to let it out, he didn't tell her it would all be okay, he just let her sob. They could talk about the bits and pieces, therapy and switching schools later. For now, it was just important that she know they knew and that they still loved her.

John let out the breath he didn't know he'd been holding and put an arm around his daughter, "It's just another dragon, princess." he whispered, "You don't have to fight it alone." He kissed her head and stayed there until she finally managed to cry herself out and let Sherlock tuck her into his arms. John smiled as he watched his husband wrap a quilt around their daughter and go to fetch a cool cloth to wipe her face with. Sherlock loped into the bathroom and ran cold water on a wash cloth to bring to John. It had gone better than he'd thought it would. There'd been tears, but at least she hadn't screamed and been hateful. He brought John the cloth and went to go and make tea. They could all use it. John could take over. He was better at the cuddling and the making sure she was feeling better.  John rocked her gently and smoothed her hair, kissing her head and murmuring soothing nonsense, "C'mon, love." he hummed, "We'll take you upstairs and tuck you in for a nap. Don't worry about anything tonight. Just rest... It's doctor's orders." She smiled a little and nodded, "Okay." she said softly. John helped her up and helped her to her room, tucking her gently into her bed, "Just rest." he insisted, "We'll do the grown up things, and you get better. That's your job in all this." Shelby nodded and looked up at him, biting her lip carefully, "I'm sorry." she whispered. John shook his head and kissed her forehead, "Don't be sorry, we all fall down sometimes, princess." John tucked her in gently and kissed her and kissed Dinah before tucking the bunny into her arms, "Just rest now." Shelby let herself be tucked in and coddled, hiding her face in Dinah's soft fur. John made one last cursory sweep of her room to make sure every last sharp object had been removed before kissing her forehead again and slipping out of her room to go back downstairs.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings for Self Harm.

The rest of the evening after tucking Shelby in to bed was quiet. John cooked dinner and coaxed his geniuses in to eating and then coaxed Shelby into sitting with him and sharing a pint of their favorite ice cream, satisfied when she ate most of it because at least she hadn't started to develop trouble eating. She was 14, little puppy fat was normal and a pint of ice cream sometimes wasn't going to hurt anything. He wrapped her in the quilt and tucked her against his side, and settling in to listen to Sherlock play. The detective worked his way through the ones he knew his daughter particularly loved and a few more that he'd written for her, trying to soothe her in his own strange way. Sherlock played, John cuddled, and Shelby dozed.

She was warm and sleepy after everything John coaxed her in to eating and the sound of her father's violin. They knew what she'd done and they still loved her. Papa still called her princess and her dad, in his own way, was still telling her he loved her and he understood that it was hard to be the way they were. She nestled in to John's side, burying her face in the soft wool of his jumper and closing her eyes. She was safe, she still felt strange and worthless, she still hated herself, but at least her parents loved her.

John stroked her hair and settled in, she always fell asleep once she got settled in with her face buried in his jumper and he started messing with her hair. He smiled a little and met Sherlock's eyes over the top of Shelby's head, "A cuppa when you get the chance?" he asked. Sherlock nodded and set his violin down and went to pick up John's mug. He kissed his husband softly and dropped a kiss on his daughter's head before padding in to the kitchen. He made tea in his usual efficient way and carried the mug back out to John, setting it on the end table for him. "She's asleep." he murmured, "D'you want me to take her to her room?" John smiled and kissed her head, "Not yet." he said softly, "I know she's warm and safe here." Sherlock nodded and picked Shelby up very carefully, aware that she was almost full grown and not 6 years old any more, and settled her into John's lap so he could sit near them and be comforted a bit himself. John just smiled and made soft nonsensical sounds at his murmuring daughter and tucked them both into Sherlock's side. The detective wrapped an arm around John's shoulder and held them, thankful that their daughter was safe and that she was going to let them help and that John had stuck by him and loved them both. He knew John hadn't signed up for any of it when he'd agreed to be flatmates, but he wasn't sorry it had happened. He loved his family, and even on their worst day it was better than being alone again. "I'll call Mycroft in the morning." he said softly, "I set him to finding a school for her, one for gifted children where we wouldn't have to send her away. Or finding us a couple tutors who will let her learn what she likes and make sure there's a balance to her education." John nodded, "How much do you think it will cost?" he asked quietly. Sherlock shook his head, "It doesn't matter." he said, "She needs to feel safe going to school and she needs to be encouraged." The doctor made a soft sound of agreement and stroked her hair, "What about therapy for all this?" he asked, "I wish we'd have done it years ago but I never thought... I thought if we loved her enough Irene leaving wouldn't matter but, I can't pretend I don't think that's part of it."

Sherlock kissed John softly and squeezed his shoulder, "We'll talk about that as well... You know her. She hates being studied and prodded at, it'll take some soft handling to get her the help she needs." John nodded, "One step at a time I guess." he murmured, leaning into his husband. Sherlock kissed his head, "Let me take her to bed so we can talk properly... If things are said about Irene, I don't want her to hear them." he said. "I don't care how old she is, I'm not going to say anything disparaging about her mother in front of her." John's cheeks colored in embarrassment, "I'm sorry, I should have..." he started, but Sherlock kissed him quiet and smiled softly. "It's okay. You didn't say anything that isn't true. Irene did leave her and you do love her." He stood carefully and scooped his daughter up gently. Either she was getting too old for this or Sherlock was because he had to struggle for a minute or two to get her situated comfortably. She rubbed her eyes and Sherlock kissed her nose, "It's bedtime, sweetheart." She looked up at him sleepily and nuzzled his neck, nestling into his arms and wrapping ht arms around his neck to make it easier for him to carry her. The detective held her for another moment and smiled lovingly, some things never changed.

John watched the tableau and felt his eyes get suspiciously prickly. His husband was getting a bit gray and their daughter was growing into a beautiful young woman but watching them together he still saw a little girl in a frilly dress dragging a beleaguered stuffed bunny by the ear and begging to be told another story by her long suffering father. The doctor reached for his mug and took a sip of his tea to hide his face for a second. Sherlock took the sleeping girl very carefully up the steps and laid her gently on her bed, tucking her in and tucking her bunny into her arms. "I love you." he whispered, kissing her forehead, "You're safe." She murmured and him unintelligibly and curled up on her side, facing the door. Her father watched her sleep for a moment and left, leaving the door cracked open a bit as he loped down the stairs.


End file.
